Beyond My Control
by GrellsLilSecret
Summary: William held on to control tightly, but one day it was ripped completely away. He has no idea what to do or even if he should try to save himself...especially with some of the things that he will be led to do.
1. Chapter 1

Dispatch was never silent. The clacking of typewriters, the sounds of heavy footfalls on the well-polished floors, and the distant murmur of soft conversations constantly played over the rhythm of the never ceasing clock. It was like the music of their existence, but it gave William a mild headache as he walked to his office. Even in the sanctity of his own working space, he couldn't drown out all the noise, and he pulled down his glasses slightly to rub his temples. Although still mild, he worried this headache was only the precursor for the storm of a migraine that was rumbling on the horizon. After a minute, he walked over to his desk. Like the rest of his office, it was precise and neat. Papers were all arranged in specific files in one of two trays, so the shiny surface was bare and pristine.

All except for the single envelope that stared up at him like an accusation.

His movements were slow and exact as he walked around to sit behind the desk and retrieve a silver letter opener. He was in no hurry because he already knew the contents. A young reaper by the name of Benjamin Miller had recently deserted.

It was an unfortunately common occurrence. Once realizing that they could easily walk away from their own punishment, many reapers choose to give up on redemption in a vain attempt to return to the living world. Benjamin had done just that as his glasses had been found setting in his apartment, although it was difficult to determine precisely when he left. To make the situation worse was that one of Benjamin's assigned souls had been claimed by a random demon.

William sighed as he read the letter. It was exactly as he expected, and he would have to appear before a supervisory board in the morning to fully explain the situation. While Benjamin had deserted during his free time, William was still held responsible. He had no idea how he was supposed to keep an eye on all of his subordinates during all hours, but that was simply part of his job description.

The migraine fully blossomed and raged behind his eyes.

Laying the envelope aside, William retrieved the current assignments. As usual, there were plenty of workers out on collections as there was never a shortage of deaths. His yellow, green eyes scanned through the lists as if their names could point to any potential problems, but he paused on one very familiar name.

Grell had come very close to deserting in the past; too close for William's preference. While she had never abandoned her glasses, she had chosen to wear a pair made by human hands for a time. She had kept her with her assignments, but she had spent her free time with that woman. In fact, William had always thought that the disciplinary board had actually gone easy on her with her punishment simply because they were relieved she hadn't deserted.

While she had given him no reason to fear she was even considering deserting, William still stared at her name as fear begin to nibble at the back of his mind. She was close to the area where the demon had claimed the soul left by Benjamin, but he still had no reason to imagine Grell was in any danger. In fact, she was probably the stronger agent currently in the field, but he still couldn't deny that fear. It was entirely irrational, which conflicted greatly with his usual rational mind, but the worry remained. It wouldn't leave him alone.

"Honestly," he mumbled to himself as he stood up and gathered his scythe. It wasn't outside the realm of his position to check on workers in the field, and he knew that he wasn't going to be able to get any work done while he was so distracted. He would check on Grell and then return immediately.

If he was lucky, he might even be able to avoid unnecessary overtime.

((x))

It was actually a rather pleasant evening as Grell at on the ridgetop of the house. She was kicking her feet slightly, humming a happy tune, and watched as the setting sun painting the world in those fabulous shades of red that she loved so much. While she enjoyed collecting souls, there were times that the weather and ambiance just didn't play along. It was hard to see the beauty of her fabulous art when in a dark, dank alleyway cloaked by shadows. She hummed contently, as she allowed her eyes to drift from the setting sun to the man working on a struggling garden on a small plot below. He wasn't a young man, about 70 years old according to her list, and he really should have left this outdoor work to someone younger and more in shape. Of course, if he had, she might not have any reason to be here as he might not be scheduled to have a heart attack. It wasn't a more gruesome death, which was the only drawback, but she any opportunity to wield her whirling, growling chainsaw was good.

As expected, the man suddenly grabbed his chest and fell onto the young, green plants he had been carefully placing in the soil; killing them with his dying body. He clawed at his chest as if trying to reach inside to take hold of his incorporative heart as his free hand reached towards the heavens. The sky above was only beginning to darken and the first few stars were just starting to wink. Perhaps he was desperately making a wish to live, but that was one wish that wasn't to be granted.

"It's time for the star to make her deadly appearance," Grell announced as she jumped to her feet and leapt nimbly into the air. She made sure that the man saw her beautiful, scarlet image just before the light began to fade from his eyes. He deserved a chance to see his glorious reaper just before the end.

Her sharp tooth friend roared to life as she plunged it into his chest and his records went spiraling into the night sky. She hated this obligatory part of the job, but she did hold out some hope that this man had been the wild sort in his youth. Those were the kind of memories she enjoyed looking at the man.

Sadly, it appeared this man had been rather dull, and Grell didn't bother to repress her yawn. He barely even took the time to sow his wild oats, as she had heard it referred, before getting married and starting a family. He barely even drank, but she had to watch as boring memory after boring memory came spilling out. Finally, she saw him working in the garden, and she was thrilled that he had a recorded memory of her leaping towards him as one of the final frames. While she wouldn't go so far as corrupt memories, she did like to implant her own image on as many as she could.

With that out of the way, she carefully separated the records from the soul, and stamped the man's file. He was her last collection of the night, so now she was free to go home and perhaps soak in a nice hot bath. Her tired muscles practically sang at the idea, but then she felt a particular presence nearby.

"Will!" she cried, turning around, "Have you come for a secret rendezvous with me, darling?"

The stoic reaper adjusted his glasses as he stared down at her from his nearby place on top of a stone wall. "I am just making sure that everything is going according to proper procedure," he announced, "Do you have anything to report?"

She smiled brightly. "Nothing," she replied, "in fact, I'm just finished. Care to escort a lady back to the office?" She batted her eyelashes, although she didn't really think he would take her up on the offer.

Before he could respond, a sudden stench filled the area. Grell had no idea how the demon had managed to hide his scent before, but a dark figure came out of nowhere and slammed into William. She heard him grunt softly as he fell heavily, and her already passionate blood began to boil. A dark, malevolent smile was painted on her face as she launched herself to the creature that seemed to swirl and twist as if it was made of smoke. It had no time to react as she sliced it cleanly in half, and black, putrid blood spewed forth to stain the ground. She heard it cry out briefly, but it began to dissolve before it even hit the ground. A noxious gas bellowed out, and then it was gone. If not for its spilled blood, it was as if it hadn't even been there. She didn't consider it much as she ran over to William who was still lying upon some fallen stones.

"Will, are you okay?" she asked, as she smoothed back the hair that had gotten mussed in his fall. In all honesty, she actually preferred his hair hanging across his forehead the way it had in the academy, but she knew he liked to keep it neat. Although he had taken quite a hit, she was concerned that he hadn't awoke yet, and she was just about to create a portal to take him straight to the infirmary, when his eyes open rather suddenly.

"Are you okay?" she asked again, still hovering nearby.

He blinked several times as he looked her direction as he straightened his glasses. "I am unharmed," he said. He stood up and knocked the dust from his clothes. While he wasn't as into fashion and appearance as Grell, he still hated getting a perfectly good suit dirty for no reason. "Was that a demon?"

Grell nodded. "I have no idea how it hid like that," she said, "but it was no match for me." She frowned slightly when she noticed William rubbing his head. "Are you sure you okay?" She reached out to touch his shoulder.

He jerked away. "I said that I am fine, and do not touch me inappropriately, Sutcliff."

She giggled very softly. "Will, no one's around now," she said, "You don't have to act."

"I don't know what you are talking about," he replied, "Make sure you include the demon attack in your report." With those few words, he created a portal and disappeared from her sight.

Standing there, she was left to stare at the spot where he had most recently stood as the feeling of being truly and utterly alone crashed down upon her. She suddenly wished she had a thousand demons to fight and to burn up all this restless energy and unused passion that burned within her, but she didn't even know if that would be enough.

((x))

William staggered into his apartment and almost fell into the floor as he grabbed hold of the doorframe. It felt like everything was sliding sideways, and he was helpless to do anything but to hold on. His stomach lurched and convulsed painfully, but everything slowly subsided after a few minutes. Finally, he shut the door as he walked inside.

He knew that he would most likely be in trouble for not going straight back to work, especially considering his meeting scheduled for the following morning, but he couldn't go back just yet. His migraine had exploded and each of the tiny fragments had exploded again and again until he couldn't see, hear, or even think correctly. Wherever that demon must had struck him must have been the worst place, and he moaned softly as he grabbed his aching head. Memories began swirling and twisting within his mind, and he recognized an oncoming attack as he stumbled to the bathroom.

Ever since his encounter with Thomas Wallis and his memories, William had to deal with a whole set of conflicting memories that were not his own. At first, it had only been minor, but it had gotten worse over the years until he had attacks that would leave him completely unable to tell his reality from the other man's past. It was particularly disconcerting to look in the mirror and suddenly feel as if that wasn't his face or features staring back at him. The behavior specialist had prescribed him a particular strong pill that helped suppress the memories, although the medicine did cause him to sleep.

With shaky hands, he grabbed the bottle and managed to undo the lit. He wasn't sure how he didn't spill all the contents as he managed to retrieve a single pill and place it on his tongue and swallowing it dry. It left a bitter trail along his tongue and down his throat, but he felt better almost immediately. He knew it was only the thought of the medicine had helped him and not the medicine itself as he had just taken it, but he couldn't deny the relief.

Struggling to walk straight, he went into his bedroom and immediately grabbed the phone beside his bed to dial a number he had long since memorized. After two rings, a professional sounding woman answered. "Dispatch Association. How may I direct your call?"

"Ms. Fletcher," William said, hoping his voice didn't sound as shaky to her as it did to him, "I won't be in for the rest of the day. Please put any necessary paperwork on my desk."

"Of course Mr. Spears," Ms. Fletcher said, "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"No. That will be all. Thank you, Ms. Fletcher." William hung up without giving the woman a chance to reply.

Without bothering to change out of his clothes, he collapsed on the bed as he felt the sweet release of sleep slowly pull him under. As he succumbed, he couldn't help but think of Grell and what she had said to him. What had she meant by there's no one around and that he could drop the act? He wasn't acting. Unlike her, he didn't know how to act, but she had seemed different. She had spoken softer and was less flirtatious than usual.

Could she had been the one to drop the act?

((x))

Grell stomped in the office, her saw still covered in demon blood, and she saw the other workers practically scrambling for cover. The realization brought a bitter smile to her face as she walked to the small office she shared with Ronald. Most workers, even senior field agents like herself, only had small cubicles or desk, but it seemed that the majority didn't like working with her. Although she was given an office so that she would be somewhat isolated, it actually had worked out to her advantage. She didn't have to deal with everyone else, and she had a space she could decorate in her own original style.

Slamming the door, she walked over and fell into her seat. It was a small area, mostly because it was dominated by a large, oak desk and masking bookshelf that contained various trinkets and pictures, but it was hers. Still annoyed, she grabbed a makeup mirror from a desk drawer and saw that several blotches of the demon's blood had splattered on to her face like misshapen freckles, and she grabbed some tissues to clean her face, cursing softly over the fact she would have to redo her makeup. Just as she finished, Ronald walked into the room.

"Hey, senior!" he greeted, as he shut the door behind him. "Rough day?"

She sighed dramatically as she carefully reapplied her makeup. "Nothing much," she replied, "Collected some souls. Talked to William. Killed a demon."

The younger reaper's eyes grew big. "A demon? What happened?"

"William came to check on me, because you know how he can't resist me being away from him for long," she began, "and this demon just suddenly appeared and bashed my beloved on the head. Of course, no lady can stand to see her prince fall, so I took care of the creature. It was such a low level brute too. It practically disintegrated with one swipe of my scythe."

Ronald frowned briefly. "I've never heard of a demon like that," he said.

"It was strange," she agreed, as she put away the paperwork, "And now my darling prince has chained me down with paperwork just because that brute interfered. At least it shouldn't take too long. What about you? Do you have anything to catch up on?"

Ronald shook his head and his usual grin reemerged. "Good thing too," he said, "I have a date."

"You always have a date. Who with this time?"

"Emily."

Grell set aside her paperwork and smiled. "Emily," she repeated, "Having you been dating her a month now? Is she perhaps special to you?"

A blush appeared on the blonde's cheeks. "Maybe," he said mysteriously.

"Well, I need to talk to her," Grell began, "to make sure she's good enough for my little Ronnie."

"Emily's a bit shy until you get to know her," Ronald explained, "but I'll introduce you."

"I'll make sure you do that," Grell said, "Now I have to get done with this paperwork. This is not a job for a lady, but my dear William insists." With another dramatic sighed, she gathered the right forms and began to document the encounter. She hated how repetitious the questions were, but this was just one of those things that had to be done.

It was close to the end of her shift when she finished. Ronald had already slipped out, although she hadn't paid attention to when precisely, but Grell walked rather calmly down to William's office. To her amazement, the door was locked.

"Oh, Miss Sutcliff," Ms. Fletcher called from her nearby desk, "Mr. Spears has already left for the day. Just leave your paperwork here with me."

Grell walked over and laid her documents on Ms. Fletcher's crowded desk. "William's not here? When did he leave?"

Ms. Fletcher appeared to think. "He left some time before lunch," she answered, "and then he called in later. I don't think he was feeling well."

Grell nodded distractedly as she thought over the matter. Perhaps William had been hurt more than she had realized by the demon's blow, and she couldn't help but feel a little guilty. She only wished she had insisted on Will going to the infirmary, but maybe she could do something to help him feel better.

With a plan in mind, she clocked out and hurried down the steps. Hopefully, William was in his apartment.


	2. Chapter 2

The hallway was long and twisted so that it was impossible to see where you were going or where you had been. William walked steadily down the hall, making his way to a destination that he even was unsure of at the moment, but he kept his eyes glued steadily on the path ahead. Along the walls were doors, most of which were crooked or warped, but he didn't even pause to see if any were unlocked or to see why lay on the other side of the door. While it wasn't something he would have typically admitted to himself, he was afraid. He felt as if there was something lurking behind the doors just waiting to swallow him up like some sort of monster from a children's story. There was some unnamed darkness in every corner and it was trying to consume him.

The thought made him walk faster.

Finally, he saw the door to his office, and he felt himself relax. This was his space and his sanctuary. Here, he should be safe. Quickly, he reached for the doorknob, but there was no sensation of cool metal beneath his fingers. He frowned as he looked down, and suddenly a realization bloomed in his mind like a black flower in the middle of a desert.

This was a dream.

William knew he had heard of knowing you were dreaming before, although this was the first time he had experienced it firsthand, and had even been told that he should be able to control the dream. He had no such desires, however, as he simply wished to awaken.

"Wake up," he said to himself, and was shocked to find his voice only came out as a hoarse whisper. Seeing that he was still trapped in his dream, he carefully twisted the doorknob and the door began to loudly creak as it opened. Even in an uncertain dream, he felt his office offered at least some safety.

The darkness, that unnamable evil, was approaching now and he could feel the echo of its footsteps down the crooked hallway. William tried to calm down and focus on simply escaping from this nightmare. "Wake up. Wake up," he said again and again. He finally managed to open the door, but he found that it wasn't his office. The room before him was bathed in the ultimate blackness except for a single panel of light. He realized that this panel of light was actually a mirror, and William could see his own form reflected in it, except one thing was altered. His reflection had no face. There was only an empty void where his face should have been.

"What's the matter, Will?" a voice that was all too close hissed.

William screamed uncharacteristically as he spun around and slammed his fist in the direction of the voice. To his surprise, it made contact and he heard a cry of surprise as something fell backwards. He breathed heavily and watched in amazement as the twisted hallway melted into his bedroom, and he was sitting up in his own bed. The vestiges of the dream were still fading as he looked down onto to see a rather confused redhead sitting on his floor. Her glasses were askew and she was rubbing her cheek which was turning an ugly shade of purple from where his fist had struck. Scattered on the floor around her were pieces of a bowl and glass. It had appeared she was about to serve him food.

"Sutcliff," William managed, his voice thick and hoarse, "What are you doing here?"

She straightened her glasses before rising to her knees. "I was worried," she said, pouting slightly, "You left work early, and you never do that." Sighing softly, she looked at the mess around her and bent over to gather the broken pieces.

William watched her for a moment and noticed that she wasn't wearing her red coat. She had probably taken it off while cooking, but he found his eyes drawn to her rear accentuated by her tight pants. She wasn't trying to be seductive, but the gentle motions she made while cleaning the floor was certainly alluring. This wasn't particularly confusing to William as she was attractive, but the strength of the feeling was frightening. With something like a roar, he jumped out of bed, grabbed Grell's arm, and jerked her to her feet. "What business do you have here?" he roared.

She blinked a few times in obvious surprise. "I told you," she replied, "I was worried." She tried to jerk her arm away, but he dug his fingers into her skin.

The smell of her so close to him, a few strands of her hair brushing against his hand, and even her struggling only caused his lust to rise. "No," he growled, "How did you get in here? Did you break in? I should file a complaint."

"You left the door unlocked!" she yelled, this time managing to pull away, "I knocked on the door and it swung open. What is wrong with you? Why are you acting like this?"

William felt guilty since Grell hadn't done anything wrong beyond entering his apartment without being invited, but other feelings were overwhelming him. Like a perverted cinematic record, he kept seeing himself ripping Grell's clothes and forcing himself on her. Grell probably wouldn't even argue, but he was horrified to realize that it didn't even matter to him.

He spun her around and shoved her roughly towards the door. "Get out!" he yelled, "Just get out of here!"

"Fine," she snorted, as she grabbed the doorknob and jerked open the door, "You really should know how to treat a lady."

"I know how to treat a lady," he said, walking up to her so that he was glaring down into her face, "but you're no lady. Not even close." He heard her sharp intake of breath, but he didn't give her a chance to respond before shoving her out of the door and slamming it behind her. The sound of the lock clicking into place was similar to that of his heart as it sunk. He knew his words had hurt her, but he had to push her away. There was something wrong with him, and he couldn't trust himself.

((x))

The Shinigami realm had been designed to look clean and pure. Caught both physically and spiritually between Heaven and earth, it was supposed to look pristine as if it was beyond the darkness and sins that plagued the human world, but it wasn't only a thinly veiled illusion. Beneath the white blocked buildings and smooth, curved streets, the same darkness still lurked, crept and grew. It wasn't even hard to find, although many purposely blinded themselves to its presence.

Grell was too honest with her own emotions to pretend it wasn't there. Instead, she let it work for her when it was convenient, and now she was in the desperate need to work off this angry energy that flow and pulsed through her veins. She had only been trying to be nice to William, but he had been so cruel. In one sense, she was used to his cold behavior since it was their pattern – the heart of their relationship, but William had acted differently than usual. He had been mean with no real reason and had made sure to hurt her in the worst way possible. Her anger rose as she replayed the scene in her head, and her the sound of her heels echoed loudly as she walked through the library. No one even glanced her way as she stomped past and shoved her way through a narrow door that was encased in the shadows.

The steps leading down towards the basement were narrow and steep, but she practically ran down until she reached the bottom. There were makeshift shops, pubs, and other sorts of businesses that were frowned up on their realm, although none were technically illegal. It just had to be hidden from the bright, faux sun of the masses. A few milled about, but Grell knew precisely where she needed to go and she walked over to a small counter and slapped her palm down sharply.

After a minute, a man walked to the counter with a bitter smile on his wrinkled face. In the bright lights of dispatch, he worked tirelessly on glasses for all of the agents, but here in the shadows Lawrence Anderson held a slightly different office. "I expected to see you sooner or later," he said.

She wasn't in the mood for pleasantries. "What do you have on this newest deserter?" she demanded.

Anderson nodded as he reached beneath the counter and produced a thin file. "There's not a lot," he said, "but young Benjamin did manage to keep his scythe since he was supposed to have been out on assignment.

"Perfect," she said as she took the file.

Anderson leaned forward. "You're awfully happy for someone who almost had a bounty on their head at one time," he said.

Grell laughed slightly. "Almost is the key word, darling," she replied, "I never fully deserted, and, besides, this is my deal. I bring in the deserters."

"And no extra time is added to your sentence," Anderson said.

She smiled sharply. "Oh, I don't worry about foolish things like time and sentences," she insisted, "This job just suits me so well." The smile didn't slip as turned and walked away, but she could feel her hands shake with repressed emotions. "And a good bloodbath is precisely what I need right now."

((x))

William stood before the council, but he felt his anger rising with each passing second. He had been in this room more than a few times, and it was never easy or comfortable. No seat was provided, which forced you to stand uncomfortably in the center of the room. The only light was overly bright and fixed so that it would shine directly on whoever it was before the council. This left the members hiding in the faceless shadows where only their voices could cross over into the light.

"Mr. Spears," announced one of the men, "We've called you here concerning this matter with the deserter, Benjamin Miller."

"Yes, sir," William said, as he fought the urge to rub his temples. His headache was growing worse with each passing minute. He just wanted to be out of this room and away from all these staring eyes. He hadn't believe able to sleep because every time he closed his eyes he only saw the same nightmare each time – except the darkness kept getting closer.

"Agent Miller deserted while on your watch," stated another voice, "What do you have to say about that?"

William shook his head. "Nothing," he mumbled. He felt as if his head was going to explode. There was a growing ringing in his ears that almost sounded as there was a hive of angry bees trapped within his head.

"Nothing!" a voice shouted painfully, "Surely you have something to say. You have failed! This is not the first time, either."

"I don't see how you can blame me," William replied. He knew he should keep his mouth shut, but it was hard for him to care with this headache. He was just tired of being treated unfairly, and he was tired of this mockery.

"What was that?" someone demanded, "Mr. Spears, you should rethink that statement."

"There's no need of it," grumbled William, as he turned and started walking towards the door.

"Mr. Spears, return to your spot immediately!"

"No," he said, and his hand was already upon the door.

"You will be suspended indefinitely if you leave this room without permission!"

"Suspend me then," William said and left the room. His headache had increased indefinitely so that the walls around him began to twist and turn. It was almost like his nightmare, and he could just feel the darkness starting to loom again. Staggering as if drunk, he blindly made his way to the front entrance.

He had to get out of here, but he wasn't planning on returning home just yet.


	3. Chapter 3

Grell walked down the hallway; her typical smile plastered on her face as she strolled along. Her greetings of good morning were casual, and most of the other morning workers barely glanced at her. Aside from the absence of her beloved red coat, there was no sign that anything was wrong in the least.

She was, after all, a very good actress.

Inside, her mind was racing and her thoughts were more chaotic than usual. Since leaving William's place the night earlier, she hadn't stopped thinking about the way he had acted. There had been many times in the past when there had been misunderstandings and disagreements. After Campania had sank, William had spoken to her harshly about her failings before he had learned of that deserter's involvement. It was the next day before he had apologized, but he had admitted he had jumped to conclusions. That had been enough for her.

What had happened yesterday, however, was different. She hadn't done anything wrong, yet William had still angrily thrown her out even after realizing this fact. She hadn't even been able to gather her red coat, which she had left hanging on a chair in the kitchen. William had seem so unusually enraged at her very presence, and the old fear that she was only deluding herself about his ability to ever love her gnawed at her mind. Pushing all those fears aside, she smiled brightly as she approached his door and knocked boldly. After receiving no response from within, her smile slipped ever so slightly as she raised her hand to knock once more.

"Mr. Spears isn't in," Ms. Fletcher announced from her nearby desk, "He had a meeting this morning with Upper Management, but he hasn't returned."

Grell turned towards her, careful to keep her face neutral. "He hasn't returned?" she repeated in a questioning tone. "That's not like him. Will you let me know when Will's back in his office?"

Ms. Fletcher smiled slightly and nodded. "I will send word when Mr. Spears comes in," she said in her usual, polite tone.

Grell returned the smile, but she felt even colder on the inside as she turned and walked to her own small office. Closing the door, she slumped against as she tried to order her thoughts. There was a chance that Will's meeting just ran a bit longer than usual, so there was no real reason to worry. Taking a deep breath, she walked over to her desk and frowned at the stacks of paperwork waiting for her. Although this was the part of the job that she hated the most, she decided that she would actually put forth extra effort to complete it all. That would hopefully make William happy. With a look of determination, she attacked the paperwork and began to work diligently.

She wasn't sure how much time had passed when she heard a soft knock on her door. "Yes?" she asked, hoping it was Ms. Fletcher with news of William or even William himself. She was disappointed and surprised to see if was only Ronald. He never knocked as he shared this office, but then Grell noticed the young, smiling brunette by his side. Grell thought she had seen her down in accounting before, although they had never spoken.

"Senior," Ronald began, "This is Emily. I thought it was time for you to meet."

"Hello," Emily said in a slightly shy tone, "It's nice to finally meet you."

Grell was tempted to tease the girl a bit since she knew her unfairly tarnished reputation was widespread, but she decided to hold back for Ronald's sake. "Nice to meet you as well," Grell replied, as she stood and walked over to the pair, "especially as seeing how you've captured the heart of a certain young reaper."

Emily laughed and blushed a deeper shade of red. She really didn't appear to be the kind of girl that Ronald pursued. She was pretty, although Grell would hesitate to call her beautiful, and she wasn't flashy or forward. Perhaps this difference was part of what had captured Ronald's eye in the first place, but the way he was looking at her now made one thing very clear.

He was in love.

Emily tugged at Ronald's arm gently. "I have to get back," she said, "My break's almost over."

Ronald gave her a mock pout. "Already?" he asked.

"I'm afraid so," she replied, "Our supervisor is really strict about being late." Smiling shyly, she turned towards Grell. "It was nice meeting you," she repeated.

"Same," Grell returned.

Ronald gently kissed her on the lips. "See you after work," he said, "I have a lot planned for us tonight."

Emily laughed softly. "I'm looking forward to it," she stated, before pulling away and hurrying down the hall. Ronald watched her go until she was out of sight; the smile never slipping from his face. Finally he shut the door and both walked to their respective desks, but Ronald's mind was still obviously far from his work. Grell almost laughed aloud when he sighed loudly.

"She seems nice," Grell offered.

"She's perfect!" Ronald exclaimed, "I've never dated anyone like her before. She's sweet and considerate and just everything. You know?"

"So what are your plans for tonight?" asked Grell.

Ronald's smile grew. "I have reservations at a great restaurant," he answered, "It's going to cost me nearly a month's salary, but it will be worth it. Afterwards, I thought we'd just go for a walk under the stars or something."

"Sounds romantic," Grell replied, "and a little unlike you. I figured you were planning a romp in the bedroom."

"Normally I would," Ronald agreed, "but it's a bit different with Emily. I don't how to explain it. I guess things aren't the same when you really care for someone."

With a happy hum, he got started on his paperwork without glancing Grell's way. Had he done so, he might have seen the crestfallen look on her face. After all, she knew exactly what it was like when you cared for someone.

Glancing up at the clock, she clicked her tongue in disapproval. William should have returned to the office a long time ago. She only hoped that everything was okay.

((x))

William had never been much of a drinker. He would occasionally drink with dinner or when he was forced to socialize, but it had never held much interest for him. The idea of being drunk or even tipsy simply didn't appeal to him - at least it didn't usually.

Sitting quietly in the back of a noisy pub, all William wanted to do was to get drunk. He wanted to drown all the questions swirling about in his head, and the worry about how badly he would be punished for his stunt with Upper Management this morning, but more than anything, he wanted to wash away the horrible mental images that now seem to skulk constantly within his mind. He could just see himself ripping through this crowd, killing all the foolish humans, and laughing as he splashed about in their blood. The thought made him choke back another glass. There was something seriously wrong with him, and he knew that he should turn himself in to the proper authorities. He could be institutionalized until the cause for these horrible thoughts could be found and treated, but he hesitated. He had seen others go to the institute only to return as little more than shells. While his own madness frightened him, the prospect of being mentally destroyed was also frightening.

There was a woman standing near the bar that caught his eye, and he knew before he even nodded to her that she was a prostitute. He typically barely paid attention to these women, and he wasn't the type to draw them his way, but this woman was different.

Her hair was red.

She smiled at him when he nodded and slowly began to weave his way. Her walk was exaggerated and designed only to draw attention, but no one else seemed to notice her as she sauntered up to William's table. "Hello, sir," she purred, "Looking for some company?"

William's heart sank as he examined her up close. He had no idea how old she was, but it was obvious that she hadn't aged well. Thick makeup clung to the sagging flesh of her face, catching in the creases about her overly red lips. Her muddy brown eyes were dull and listless as she batted fake eyelashes at him and ran her tongue over her gently rotting teeth. The vivid hair, which had caught his eye before, was nothing more than an ill-fitting wig, and he could see graying strands peeking out around the edges.

He knew he should just walk away and leave the poor woman to his own devices, but a voice that barely even sounded like his own suddenly spoke. "That's precisely what I'm looking for."

She nodded as she smiled wider. "Going to buy me something to drink first?" she ventured to ask.

"No," he said curtly, as he stood up and took her arm.

She didn't seemed surprised by her treatment, and silently walked along with him. Once there were outside, she pointed down the street. "My flat's that way," she offered, "No one should be there now."

He recognized that saying no one should be there meant that she shared it with other women like herself, but he only nodded as he let go of her arm so that she could lead the way. Falling into step behind her, he focused her eyes on her (fake) red hair. It wasn't as long as Grell's, but watching it move with the woman's steps reminded him of the last time he had seen Grell; kneeling on the floor cleaning up the broken bowl. The way her hips had moved and flexed while she was on her knees claimed his senses, and he could feel himself growing hard in his slacks. Soon, he would have his release.

The woman led him down an alleyway to a small place that seemed to be little more than an afterthought jammed between other buildings. Other women, all with the same tired, haggard eyes, were gathered outside, but they stepped out of the way to allow them inside.

There was no ceremony to their actions. After closing the door, the woman disrobed as she moved towards a dirty bed that had seen far too many people in its time. She started to remove the wig, but William stopped her.

"Leave it on," he insisted as he undressed.

She nodded quietly as she took her place on the bed. She had probably heard weirder requests in her time, but William no longer cared as he stripped and moved to lay on top of her.

Her skin was soft and pliant, and William almost winced at the feel of it beneath his hands as he slid inside. "That feels so good," the woman said without any sign of emotion. She probably said that to all her clients to keep them happy, and a dark rage began to fill his mind.

"Shut up," he growled, as he drew back his fist to hit her. This was all wrong, and it was her fault somehow, although the tiny portion of his mind that was still rational didn't know how. Still, this was all wrong. He shouldn't be in this place. He should be back at his apartment.

She should be Grell.

The woman winced and turned her head slightly as she awaited the blow, and the sight shocked William as he realized what he was about to do. Immediately, he pulled out of her and moved away as he struggled to gain control over himself.

She sat up on the bed with an emotion that was hard to read and watched him as he quickly dressed and tossed some money on a broken table. He raced out the door blindly, and somewhere behind him he heard a whoop of laughter. Somehow he knew it was directed at him, and his anger only grew. He had to get out of here before he could no longer control his growing rage, so he quickly teleported away. Although it was against the rules, he didn't care if there were witnesses to him simply vanishing.

He reappeared in his apartment, but it provided him no escape from the torment in his own mind. He was losing precious control by the second, but he had no idea what he should do. The idea of turning himself over to the institute seemed less appealing by the second, but he couldn't see any other option available to him. Stumbling almost blindly, he went to the kitchen in the vain hope that a cold glass of water might help.

That's when he saw the red coat, her red coat, hanging with deceptive innocence on the back of a chair.

The tiny fragment of his rational mind realized that Grell must have left it behind when he had thrown her out the day before, but the sight of it only angered him more. Somehow Grell was the key to all of this, and he picked up the coat to bring it close to his face. It even smelled like her, and his neglected member throbbed and ached with the realization.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. He wanted to ignore it, but he sound repeated itself and reverberated in his head painfully. With something of a growl, he stomped to the door and swung it open to yell at whoever it was creating such a noise. To his surprise, Grell was standing there with a peculiar look on her face.

"Will," she gasped, "I wanted to check on you. Where have you been? Oh, and you have my coat."

She might have said more, but William wasn't listening as he yanked her inside and shut the door. Ignoring her surprised gasp, he slammed her against the wall and shoved his mouth on hers until he could taste blood. This was how this was supposed to feel as he rubbed his aching groin against her and began tearing at her shirt. Lust intermingled with his rage as he jerked and tugged at her clothes until she made the mistake of pushing him away.

((x))

Grell had vivid fantasies of her and William which she loved to play from time to time in her head like an imagined cinematic record. There were times that he was a gentlemen; hesitant and gentle with each touch, but there were other fantasies where they simply couldn't contain their passion for each other. She had always enjoyed these fantasies, but a part of her hadn't been prepared for the reality.

To say that had been surprised when William had jerked her inside and shoved her against the wall to kiss her roughly would have been a massive understatement. Still, his lips were finally on hers and his hands were roaming her body. She had longed for his touch for so long that she wanted to ignore the fact that he was acting oddly, but then she heard the ripping of her shirt and the sound of a few buttons hitting the floor.

Pushing him back slightly, she looked into his eyes. "We don't have to rush, darling," she said.

William's lips pulled back in a snarl and he suddenly punched her without warning. Her hand banged painfully into the wall behind her, and she could feel the area around her eye swelling. There was no question now that something was definitely wrong. While William had never hesitated to physically discipline his subordinates, he wasn't acting as supervisor in this case, nor had she done anything wrong. She shoved him away, harder this time, and met him with a cold gaze.

"Stop it," she demanded, as she pushed away from the wall and reached for the door.

With a growl, he jerked her back by her hair and threw her in the direction of the couch. She stumbled slightly, but managed to keep her footing as he approached while undoing his pants.

William was stronger than her, but she was not weak by any stretch of the imagination. When he stepped closer, she caught him directly on the chin with a perfect uppercut that sent him reeling back a few steps, but he wouldn't go down so easily. He caught her second punch in midair and twisted her wrist painfully as he hit her once more in the face. Blood poured from her nose as he reached down to manipulate her own slacks.

Grell didn't hesitate to bring her knee up sharply into William's crotch. She heard his quick intake and breath as he fell beside her, but she didn't take the time to see if he was okay. Grabbing her coat, she ran outside as the first few tears filled her eyes. William, her William, had attempted to rape her, and she just couldn't wrap her mind around that fact. Nothing about this made sense. Choking back sobs, she ran blindly towards home.

((x))

Ronald felt like he was walking on air as he navigated the familiar route towards Emily's house. She had wanted to go home and change, and he actually appreciated this time before their date. He had already decided that tonight was the night he was going to admit that he loved Emily, and he was anxious and excited. There was a fear that she might not feel the same way, but deep in his heart he thought that perhaps this was the true beginning of their relationship.

As he walked around the corner, a strange noise reached his ears. Looking up, he saw Grell running from a building in a strange state. There was blood on her face and her clothes were ripped, but what upset Ronald the most was that she was crying. He had seen her upset in the past, but he had never seen her so broken and sobbing. She was apparently too caught up in her problems to even notice Ronald as she turned and ran off in the opposite direction.

It only took Ronald a second to realize she had ran from William's place, and Ronald frowned darkly as he wondered what that truly meant. Putting his date on hold, he walked up and knocked on William's door, which swung open easily. William was leaning over the couch slightly.

"What's going on Mr. Spears?" Ronald asked, "I just saw Senior Sutcliff run out."

When William raised his eyes to look at Ronald, he realized he had made a crucial mistake because what he saw was not the eyes of a reaper.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

 _She stood alone on the small hill and cursed the beauty of the day which seemed to mock her very existence. Tears streamed down her face and obscured her vision, but she tore her eyes from the scenery to stare down at the crumbled note in her hand. She didn't need her sight to read what had been hastily scrawled on the page. She had read those two sentences so many times in the past hour, the words had been branded on her heart._

 _"I'm sorry. I'm just not strong enough."_

 _This should be her moment. Instead of crying in this torment, she should be laughing as she locked hands with her lover so they could run off and face the world together. Their future would be uncertain, and they were bound to face some hatred, but he had promised to stand by her side. He had claimed to love her and that he understood, but he had run away just like everyone else. In the end, he had been too weak._

 _She had a note of her own tucked into her pocket, but this one was full of venom for all the people who had failed her. Setting it to the side, she pulled a large knife from her bag and stared at the blade as if fascinated. She didn't want to do this, but life had just hurt her one too many times, and she saw no relief on the horizon. She would forever be judged and misunderstood. She would forever be alone._

 _As she brought the blade to her wrist, she cast her eyes upward as a pseudo prayer fell from her lips. "If there is another life beyond this, oh please let me find a love that is strong enough to stand by my side."_

((x))

Grell sat silently in the soapy weather and watched as the steam rose around her. Normally, the hot water kneading at tired muscles and the steam relaxed her, but now the misty air only took on the red hues of her scarlet towel and candles so that it had a hellish glow. Perhaps that was the reason she was being assaulted by so many memories. How much a reaper remembered of their human life did vary from individual to individual, but she had always vividly recalled the end of her life. She had been in love with a young man named Elijah, who had claimed to love her in return. Knowing their families, nor society in general, would approve, they had formed a plan to run away together, but Elijah had left her a note instead. He had been too weak to face the world for her, so she had taken her own life with her final thoughts being the wish for a man that was strong enough to love her.

Grell removed the plug so the water could swirl freely down the drain as she carefully stepped out of the tub, but she couldn't release her memories so easily. Somehow, her final wish had remained in her mind when she had been reborn, and it completely changed the way she acted and behaved. Her new body was so strong and agile where she had been rather physically weak in life due to poor health, so she had decided to take advantage of this change. She pushed people away and bullied them, and a tiny part of her thrilled that everyone now seemed afraid of her. She'd see them step out of the way when she walked down the halls, and even some of the instructors would move aside with the fear written clearly on their faces. It felt good to be in control and to have some power, but her loving heart had still cried out for someone.

Grell walked over to her mirror and wiped away the condensation so that she could see her face. The dried blood had been washed away, and the bruises had already faded due to her advanced healing abilities. There was no sign that she and William had physically fought outside of the pain stamped in her eyes, but no one looked close enough to see it. She could hide it easily with a sharp toothed smile and risqué comment.

She had noticed William early on, of course, with his dark hair and tall build and had been immediately attracted. Sadly, he had seemed as weak as any of the others, so she had been the meanest to him. It was wrong that she was attracted to another weak man, so it was as if she was punishing him for her feelings. He seemed to accept this behavior until he finally had stood up and fought back. That's when she had realized he was secretly strong, and the walls she had built up around her heart crumbled like fragile china. From that moment on, she had accepted she loved William, and became determined that he would love her one day.

At first, William's advances towards her tonight had been like something out of one of her fantasies. She had often imagined that he would take charge, and the feel of his hands and lips had been intoxicating. This was what she had been wanting for so long, but the sounds of her clothes being ripped away had brought an unexpected fear to her mind. Although she wanted to be bold, she was scared because there was one thing that William didn't know.

She was a virgin.

She had been determined to only give herself to someone she loved and had fallen in love with William soon thereafter, so she had waited. Sex was viewed rather casually in their world, so her attitude was peculiar, and she had never vocalized her desire to wait. Despite this truth, a rumor had begun that she had sex indiscriminately. In a realm where no one seemed to care who they slept with, she was still branded as 'Slutcliff,' although she pretended to not know the existence of the unfortunate nickname. No one would have believed her if she had told the truth, so she simply flirted with the very people who spread the rumors and used the sauciest innuendos her imaginative mind could conjure. It might have seen counterproductive, but it was the way she had learned to deal with the situation.

William undoubtedly thought she was overly sexual as he had said as much in the past, but she had always planned to tell him the truth. In fact, had things continued on their course, he might have discovered the truth this evening, but when she had asked him to slow down out of her own fear, things had taken a violent turn.

While she knew she hadn't done anything wrong, she couldn't silence that small part of her mind that insisted it was partially her own fault. After all, she had wanted to be with William and had made this abundantly clear over the years. Perhaps things would have worked out for the best if she had not fought back and simply submitted.

She shook her head violently to dispel the thought, and the slightly damp tendrils of hair that had escaped the messy bun on her head slapped at her damp skin. She knew such a line of thinking of dangerous. It didn't matter how much she had wanted William, he had still tried to take advantage of her. Her being flirty or having a bad reputation was no excuse. What he had tried to do was wrong.

But she still couldn't quite silence that voice.

Barely resisting an urge to slam her fist through the mirror, she wrapped a soft robe about her body and walked into the bedroom to dress for bed. Although she knew Upper Management would frown upon her thinking, she wished there was another deserter so she could work off all this restless energy. Benjamin had barely even put up a fight the night before, and there had been so much information on him it had been easy to locate the boy. As she been contracted to do, he had been summarily executed on the spot, although she honestly didn't understand the reasoning. Most deserters simply tried to lead normal lives, but that was futile since their inability to age and die naturally forced them to constantly be on the move. There was no true rest or happiness for them, but she had long since learned not to question such decisions. Besides, the feel of her scythe slicing through a body and the spurt of fresh blood would do wonders for her mood at the moment.

There was no one to hunt or kill at the moment, however, so she simply dressed in a pair of red and black silk pajamas and crawled into bed. Perhaps things would be clearer in the morning.

((x))

Eggshell white.

The obnoxiously plain color was the first thing William became aware of as his eyes slowly opened and adjusted to his own ceiling lights. Unlike a lot of reapers, William had never bothered to repaint his apartment for it seemed like a waste of energy and time. Besides, he had no eye for color or decoration, so he had left his surroundings as plain as most viewed his personality.

His head ached and throbbed as if was infested with a swarm of angry wasps that swirled about so that his thoughts and memories were lost in buzz. He remembered returning from the pub and seeing Grell's coat. There had been a knock at the door, and he thought he could remember that his visitor had been Grell herself, but his mind was blank after that. He couldn't remembered what he had said to the redhead, or how he had wound up lying on his own floor. "Honestly," he mumbled to himself as he brought up his hand to rub his throbbing temples.

The coppery scent of blood filled his nostrils and he could see the drying gore affixed to his hand like a gruesome glove. Despite the throbbing in his head, he sat up quickly, but he was not prepared for the horror that spread around him like an unspeakable nightmare.

Blood had been splashed on the walls in an hideous pattern so that it looked like a field of violent, exploding roses, and he could hear the steady drip where the bodily fluid was so thick it hadn't yet dried. The drip was as monotonous as the clock on the far wall - or the beating of heart. In the center of the crimson mess, a body lay motionless and still. Crawling forward on his hands on knees, William slowly approached the body.

The hair was red, and he immediately thought of Grell, but it had only been dyed red by the copious blood. A few of the short strands that had managed to escape the gore were blond and black, and he knew even before he saw the ostentatious watch that this was actually Ronald. Dread welled up within him as he turned the body over to survey the damage.

There was no question that Ronald was dead. Half of his face had been torn away leaving behind only torn muscle and a few teeth which glistened obscenely from the hole tore from his cheek. His left eye had been ripped from it's socket, but the right looked up blankly at William. The green and gold had become faded and sightless, and it looked more like a marble staring out in horror. It appeared that Ronald had tried to scream in the end, and his mouth had been frozen as a gaping maw of horror. His neck had and chest had also been clawed and torn to shreds. Some of the damage had obviously been done by a scythe, but William couldn't help but notice that other wounds appeared as if someone had tried to rip Ronald apart with their bare hands. William knew that those hands belong to him.

What was even worse was that he could sense that Ronald's soul and records were missing. The absence of his soul was disturbing enough since this meant that Ronald could not be reborn, but there was no reason for his records to be missing as well. A scythe separated the two easily, but there was no mistaking that the records were missing as well.

Carefully, William stood up and walked with a false calmness to the telephone. Punching in a few numbers, he waited until a voice came on the line.

"How may I direct your call?" a professional sounding woman inquired. It struck William that her voice might not suit her image at all, and he had to stop himself imagining how she might truly look.

"My name is William T. Spears," he announced, "I live in Flat E on West Street. I have just killed dispatch agent, Ronald Knox. Please send the authorities."

He hung before the woman had a chance to respond, and winced slightly when he noticed the smudge of blood left on the phone. With the same measured stride, he walked into the bathroom to wash up, but he wasn't really surprised to find that the blood didn't wash away so easily. His hands should be stained by his deeds.

Afterwards, he stepped into the bedroom to retrieve a sheet and was just positioning it over Ronald's face when there was a heavy thud upon his door. It was far too hard and explosive to simply be a knock, but William steadied himself as he opened the door and stepped aside. The two men that stomped inside were broad and muscular with something akin to disgust written on their features. With their identical uniforms and similar shortly cropped, dark hair, William had trouble telling the two apart, but he didn't spend much time examining their faces. Instead, he held out his hands to await the celestial handcuffs.

"William T. Spears," one of the men barked, "You are under arrest for murder." He slapped the handcuffs on William's wrists, and William was surprised to find that the cuffs rather hurt. He had never heard of any sort of pain associated with the implements, but he hadn't really discussed being arrested with anyone either. Accepting the pain, he nodded as he allowed himself to be led from his apartment.

The same man continued to talk, but William couldn't focus on the words. He couldn't stop the accusations swirling about in his own mind. This was all his fault. If he had admitted he had been having issues, he might have been put into the Facility, and Ronald would still be alive. His own fear of being institutionalized had caused all of this, and he knew the punishment for such a crime. Murder was bad enough, but actually destroying the soul and records was an offence punishable only by death.

And he deserved it.

((x))

Grell strolled into Dispatch while humming a happy tune; the sounds of her heels clacking on the tiled floor creating a bit of a rhythm. Only a few glanced her way, although her antics were mostly ignored these days, which suited Grell just fine. In truth, she certainly didn't feel as carefree as she was acting. She had gotten very little sleep the night before, and had to apply just a little more makeup around her eyes to disguise this little fact. It would doubtful anyone would notice, but she didn't want anyone to question how she felt - especially since she wasn't quite sure herself. Despite going over the matter continually in her own head all night, she still wasn't sure what to make with the way William had acted. She had to confront him directly.

With faux confidence, she steadily walked towards William's office, but frowned slightly when she noticed the door was closed. He usually left it open of the morning so he could keep an eye on who was arriving late to work. Even so, Grell knocked lightly, but wasn't really surprised to find there was no answer. With an exaggerated sigh, she turned towards Miss Fletcher, who was just sitting down at her desk, to ask if she knew of William's whereabouts, but was shocked to see that the secretary was looking at her with a horrified expression.

"Don't tell me William's out again?" Grell asked lightly. As soon as the words left her mouth, she could hear the whispers whipping around her like a unseasonably cool wind that marked the coming of a terrible storm. She was used to the whispers as they had hounded her through two lives, but something in her heart told her this was more than mean spirited gossip, and she unconsciously wrapped her arms slightly around her body.

Miss Fletcher swallowed once, and Grell saw that the woman was trying her best to be professional. "Mr. Spears will not be in today," she managed to reply, "Nor will he be coming in again. Upper Management will be sending a replacement supervisor down later today."

"But why?" Grell asked. She dreaded the answer, but she knew she had to hear the truth.

"There was….an incident last night," Miss Fletcher replied, "It appears that Mr. Spears killed Mr. Knox, and he is now being held in the Ethereal Prison."

Color faded from Grell's world as she desperately tried to make sense of what Miss Fletcher had said. The secretary was still talking, but Grell couldn't focus on the words as she hurried to the small office she shared with Ronald. His desk looked the same as it always did with it's slight clutter, although she noticed that his collection of girls' pictures had been replaced with a single one of Emily. There were no assignments on his desk, however, and that was enough for Grell to know the truth. Ronald was gone.

She staggered back a few steps and leaned heavily on her own desk. Ronald was gone, and William was imprisoned. She had lost them both, but in a way that hurt her far more than anything she could have imagined. Ignoring the stack of assignments on her desk, she suddenly pushed herself away and stomped out of the door. As she marched down the hallway, everyone stepped aside. It was just like in her academy days, but she no longer sought to be feared. She only wanted to be left alone as she left Dispatch and hurried towards the prison.

Unlike the shadowy realm she had visited previously, the prison itself was far from hidden. It set solidly just beyond the business district and rose up like a jagged, foreboding mountain. Yet most seemed to try to ignore or deny its existence; often refusing to even look in the direction. Grell found this laughable since accepting or not accepting something didn't change its reality but perhaps things were different for someone who had actually been held within the unforgiving walls at one time. Her stride didn't waver, although she felt her heart speed up a bit as she approached the high gate. Although she had been here many times since she had accepted the position of bounty hunter, or recovery agent as it was sometimes called, she had never been able to escape the feeling the gate was nothing more than a metal filled mouth ready to swallow her whole. Keeping her face neutral, she approached the gate and motioned to a guard in a nearby shack.

Since she had been to the prison multiple times for information, the guard barely glanced at her through the window before yawning and activating some situations. She thought his name was Thompson, and she had yet to see him look anything other than bored as he routinely read a book and scratched at his bald head. This was probably because there was so much security inside the prison, his job was little more than sitting in a small shack for long hours. Thompson returned to his book as the gate slid open soundlessly and she stepped inside. Without waiting to see the gate closed, she marched quickly to the front entrance where she encountered two identical, narrow doors. Typically, she stepped though the door on the left, which led to the offices, but instead, she opened the right door. Unlike the gate, it creaked loudly and heavily as if announcing her visit, and walked inside a small room. A larger door was located directly opposite, but first she walked up to a short counter on the left wall. Another guard was sitting inside, but he was almost an exact opposite of Thompson. His name tag identified him as Wilson, but his nervous twitches told Grell he was fresh from the academy. He regarded her with wide-eyed shock as he quickly adjusted this glasses and ran a hand through his sandy hair. "Yes," he began, "Can I...uh...can I help you?" She almost felt sorry for him, but his experience just might work to her advantage.

"I need to see the prisoner, William T. Spears," Grell stated firmly, "and I don't have time to wait around."

Wilson fiddled with some papers. "Uh, no one is supposed to see that prisoner," he replied, "You can put in a request or-"

"I don't have time for these games!" Grell interrupted, slamming her open palm on the counter, "I am reaper recovery agent 6537-006, Grell Sutcliff. There is danger that this prisoner will attempt escape, and I came to prevent this problem before it arises. If he escapes while you're playing out here, the ensuing incident will be blamed on you. Do I make myself clear?" She was lying of course. While she was a listed recovery agent as part of her probation, there had no warnings William would even try to escape. She only hoped he bought her little act, but she was an amazing actress after all.

"You are listed as a recovery agent," he finally said, "but I'll need to call my supervisor."

"Do whatever you want," Grell replied in a dismissive tone, "but let me speak the prisoner while you're making your little call."

The young man paled beneath his brown hair and swallowed loudly. "Okay," he finally agreed, as he pushed a button. "He's in cell 7, but you should wait." The large door in front of Grell unlocked audibly and swung inwardly almost imperceptibly. Keeping her face stony, she strode forward and stepped through the doorway - ignoring his plea. She could hear Wilson frantically calling his supervisor as the door slammed shut behind her and locked. There was no turning back now, nor did she have any desire to do so. She had to see William.

Her footfalls were loud and echoed through the halls, but she wasn't concerned. There were few prisoners or guards actually inside this facility, nor did she particularly fear Wilson's supervisor. From her own experience, she knew that most of the supervisors took extended breaks and were hard to reach when needed. She almost smiled at the thought as she strode to cell 7 and stood in front with her arms crossed.

William looked up slowly, and the surprise was evident on his typically cold face. This short time in prison had already taken is toll as his hair was messy and there were dark circles about his eyes. She was ready to feel any sympathy for him, however, as she simply stared at his seated form.

"Sutcliff," William said, "What are you doing here?"

"Did you kill Ronald?" she demanded instead of answering his question.

He opened his mouth to answer, but quickly close it again as his eyes slipped back to the stone floor of his cell. "It appears that I did," he admitted.

"Why would you do that?" she asked, "What you did to me was bad enough, but I could have forgiven you for that." Her anger was rising as her hands shook. She wanted to kill him at this moment even if she knew it wouldn't kill her pain.

He looked up with what appeared to be genuine confusion. "What I did to you," he said, "What do you mean?"

She waved the question away as if it was nothing more than an annoying insect. "That's not important," she lied, "what is important is that killed Ronnie, and I can't forgive you for that." Taking a deep breath, she started to walk away because she knew it was becoming impossible for her to control her feelings but paused just before walking out of sight. "I hate you," she announced, "As much as I ever loved you, I hate you now." With those words, she left William to sit in his lonely cell, although she knew it wouldn't be long. Upper Management didn't procrastinate when it came to punishments, and she already knew William's fate.

((x))

The silence within the prison was almost deafening as William sat silently in his lonely cell. Grell was gone. She had said her peace and had left, and he couldn't really blame her. He knew she had been close to Ronald, but what hurt him most was what she had said. She had said she had hated him. He had never dreamed those words could have fallen from her lips, but it had happened. This was all like some sort of horrible nightmare from which he couldn't awaken. He buried his face in his hands as he tried to make sense of it all. He had known he was losing control over his sanity, but he could never imagined actually killing Ronald, and he had no idea what he had done to Grell. William could have cried if he hadn't taught himself not to do so long ago.

He wasn't sure how long he sat in that position when he became aware that someone was approaching, and he looked up in hopes that Grell had returned, but he soon realized that it was more than one individual. Adjusting his glasses, he sat up straight so he could greet these visitors with what little dignity remained. After a moment, the warden along with two large guards appeared. The warden was a handsome man with steel grey hair and a slender build, but the two guards looked more like stone statues that somehow gained the ability to move.

"Hello, Mr. Spears," greeted the warden in a dull voice, "How are you doing?"

"I am fine," answered William, "considering the circumstances."

The warden nodded briefly. "You will have a trial tomorrow," he said, "but it is only a formality. You will be executed the following day. Do you understand this?"

"Yes, sir."

"That's good," said the warden, "Now, we just have to put on a containment collar."

The warden might have said more, but William was't listening. He couldn't listen as his mind began to shriek and squeal almost as if it was in terror. It made no rational sense for William to be afraid of the collar, but he couldn't deny the fear and anger welling up within him. He looked up desperately and opened his mouth to ask for some assistance, but a loud beast like growl escaped his throat.

His body was suddenly no longer under his control as he watched himself suddenly leap towards his feet and lunge towards the guards. He heard their terrified cries as they blood splattered on the walls. Somehow, he had managed to grab hold of one of the guard's scythe and he knew he was about to kill again. Just before, he felt himself falling into unconsciousness, and he only hoped that someone would be able to stop him before he escaped.

((x))

Grell's feet were dragging as walked through dispatch covered in blood that was not her own and too tired to worry about putting on an act. Everyone still stepped out of her way as she slowly walked to the office she used to share with Ronald. For once, she was thankful as she didn't feel like really talking to anyone else. With a loud sigh, she stepped into her own office and closed the door.

"I expected you back sooner," a voice stated.

She jumped before turning around only to see Lawrence Anderson sitting at Ronald's desk. Although she respected the man, she still didn't like seeing someone sitting at her junior's desk, but she decided not to make it an issue. "Why are you here?" she asked, as she laid her bloody chainsaw on her desk. It was still hot from where she had used it to kill three demons who made the mistake of showing their faces while she was collecting souls.

"There's been another deserter," Anderson said calmly, "and I think you'll be especially interested in this one."

She turned around just in time to see him throwing a file in her direction. She caught it easily, although she was confused as to how she hadn't heard a single whisper about anyone deserting. Curious, she opened the file and almost dropped it in surprise when she saw William's unsmiling face looking up at her. "William...escaped?" she asked.

"Yes," Anderson, "but we have a lot of information on him; some very important information. You'll need to read that file carefully, and I have some other things you need to take."

Grell smiled coldly. "This is perfect," she said in an oddly quiet tone.

"Pardon?" Anderson asked.

"This is perfect," she repeated, as she picked up her customized scythe and pointed it towards Anderson. "After all," she said, "I should be the only one who is allowed to take William's life."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The room was dark except for a single, flickering candle in the far corner. Particles of dust danced about the flame, but the light was swallowed by the oppressive dark which painted the room in it's dreary tones. Despite this, William found that he could see his surroundings fairly well, and he sat up slowly to examine his new location. His head ached slightly as he moved, but he did his best to ignore the sensation as he looked.

Cobwebs hung from the corners of the low ceiling like ruined lace; laminated by years of accumulated dust. The same grime coated every available surface, including a pile of books, ancient by even William's standards, which had been tossed carelessly into the corner. A nearby lopsided desk was covered in yellowed parchment and countless jars, whose glass surfaces winked vaguely in the available light. Realization dawned on William, and he jumped quickly from the stone slab on which he had been sitting. This musty room was in the abandoned shop of the deserter known only as Undertaker - or, more specifically, a subbasement of the shop. It's location was only known to a few individuals as William had only accidentally stumbled upon it during a recent investigation, although the higher-ups hadn't seem particularly interested in the location. He had done his best not to care about their lack of interest since it wasn't his place to question, although it was impossible to completely quiet the nagging little voice in the back of his mind that demanded why.

Still uncertain of who or what might have lain on the slab before him, he quickly knocked the dust off of his clothes with exaggerated care. Even though he was alone, he did so with no outward emotion or betrayal of the innermost workings of his mind. His attire in order, he reached up to adjust his glasses, and it was only then that he noticed the eye wear was missing.

Panic seized his heart. His glasses were his tie to his realm and proof he was worthy to be reaper. Without them, he was nothing more than some creature that should have been dead a long time ago, but what scared him even more was that he could see. It was said that when a reaper truly deserted, and gave up his glasses, he regained a somewhat normal vision, or what had been normal during his life. William hadn't worn glasses in life, so it seemed that part of the rumor was true, and the truth weighed heavily on his heart.

He was a deserter.

He had given up on any chance of redemption. His absolute best future now was one of being constantly on the run while waiting for officials or a recovery agent to discover him. While he still was basically immortal, that was now more of a sentence than ever before. Somehow, it now seemed fitting that he was hiding out in the underground lair of another deserter.

With a loud sigh, he walked across the room, watching as plumes dust rose in his wake, to the lopsided desk. Shuffling the papers around, he looked for a clean sheet and a pen to write an apology. In truth, he had little idea of what he was apologizing for precisely. He knew he had killed Ronald, and he feared that he had killed some of the guards in the prison. As he lost consciousness, he heard their terrified screams slicing through the air - and odd disjointed laughter that could only been the sound of someone who had been driven mad at the sight. William still didn't quite understand why no one had stopped him or how he had came to be in this place. Perhaps he would learn the truth one day, but that would probably only happen if he was caught.

"I should turn myself in," he said aloud, and he was surprised at the hoarseness of his voice, "I am a criminal, and that was the right thing to do." Despite his words, he knew that he wouldn't give himself up to the authorities. It wasn't something he could explain, but he somehow was aware that he wasn't going to return to his realm without a fight. All he could assume was that he wasn't as moral as he had always thought.

Somewhat depressed, he found a slightly soiled yet empty page and put his pen to paper. At least he would have a chance to record some of his final words.

My name is William T. Spears, and I'm writing this letter to apologize for all that I have done.

He paused as his pen trembled just above the paper, and he had no idea of what he should say. He had apologized, but a single sentence simply wasn't enough to convey his true grief at his actions. It just wasn't good enough.

"You were never good enough."

He jumped a little at the voice, and almost turned around to see who had spoken, but his mind suddenly recognized the voice. It was the voice of his father; disappointed as always. While he knew his father had died many years earlier, to hear his father's words didn't particularly surprise him. After all, he had heard it said that those going insane often heard voices.

((x))

Grell walked quietly through the empty rooms of William's apartment as she looked about the modest surroundings. While she had been here in the past, she had never noticed just how plain and sparsely it was decorated. When William had lived here, it seemed to fit him so well that Grell had barely noticed. This place was simply a part of William, but now it looked like the neglected set of a somber play. She clucked her tongue disapprovingly as she glanced through all the doors and cabinets. There was no clue where William might be hiding, but she hadn't really expected there to be.

When someone deserted, a file was comprised of their usual haunts or possible hiding spots, but there had been little information on William in that regard. He rarely traveled to the human world and usually only did so when it was absolutely necessary. He had no favorite places to visit or anyone who might be considered even an acquaintance. She had known more information than the file contained, which she recognized as being rather sad. William truly had very little beyond his work.

The soft sound of wings filed the apartment, and she wasn't surprised when a soft, feathery body landed on her shoulder. "Hello, Rosalind," she greeted the plump pigeon, "Do you know where Willy is?"

Rosalind cocked her head slightly and looked at Grell with her dark eyes almost inquisitively. She didn't coo in response, nor did Grell expect her to as William had once told her that female pigeons didn't coo like their male counterparts.

"You must be hungry," Grell reasoned, "now that Will isn't here to feed you." Almost managing a smile, Grell stepped into the kitchen and retrieved the bird seed. Rosalind was practically dancing on her shoulder as Grell poured some into a small dish. "Here you go," she offered, and Rosalind didn't appear to need a second invitation. There was no doubt that she had been quite hungry with the way she devoured the food. "I'll come back and feed you," Grell announced, walking to the door, "so you won't get hungry again." While the pigeon was distracted, she slipped out of the door, but her heart was heavier than ever. While feeding poor Rosalind was a good thing, it only illustrated how helpless she was at the moment. She couldn't really do anything else in this situation, and she hated feeling like this. She just wanted to return things back to how they had been before, but she knew that it was impossible.

A loud tone echoed through their realm as if it was the clanging of a giant bell. The sound reverberated painfully in Grell's head, but she she only looked to the west because she knew what that sound meant. It was time for Ronald's funeral.

Funerals weren't a common occurrence in their realm, although Ronald's was far from the first. Typically it was a reaper who had been killed by a demon, but such an event hadn't happened in a very long time. Reapers who deserted weren't given the formality of respect of an actual funeral after their deaths since they were thought to have died without honor. While it wasn't a written rule, it was frowned upon to even talk about someone who had deserted in any sort of positive or respectful manner, and a funeral was certainly out of the question. After Eric's and Alan's death, their names had been stricken from all of the current records. William had tried to convince Upper Management that Alan hadn't technically deserted since the sickly reaper had been well-liked and many wanted a funeral, but it had been an impossible task as Alan had been discovered without his glasses.

Grell wrapped her arms about herself as she realized that her thoughts always returned to William. Despite the fact that she was walking to the funeral of someone who had died by his hand, she couldn't seem to stop thinking of him. Perhaps he had simply occupied her mind for too long, but she did her best to push her musing aside as she slipped inside the large entrance of the library. There were no churches in their realm, so all funeral were held here. Normally it was fitting since a reaper slain before redemption could be reborn so their memories would be passed to another body along with their soul, but now it almost seemed mocking. Ronald's soul had been ripped from his body cruelly, so there was no chance he would ever be reborn nor could he pass on to any other existence. He was simply gone.

The library was full as Ronald had been a very popular and well-liked young man, but the somberness of the occasion hung on the air like a stifling smoke. Conversations were being held in hushed tones and the occasional glimpse of a tear, glistening like a lost jewel, sometimes winked. They were death, but yet the passing of someone they cared about still affected them. It was almost like being human again but only in the most tragic way.

Grell's steps were solid as she locked her eyes on the the massive, mahogany casket setting silent and alone at the center of the room. Even with their best doctors, Ronald's body had been too badly mutilated to be shown, so the lid to the casket had been sealed shut away from prying eyes. Her hands shook as she walked towards that wretched box; wanting to rip the lock away and toss on the cold, marble floor. It didn't matter how he looked now, that had been her Ronnie, and she had loved him as if he had been her little brother. She deserved to see his face one last time. She resisted the urge, however, as she paused in front of the casket and pulled out a single, red rose from her coat. It was a perfect blossom which had been cut when it was still young and fresh. Like Ronald, it was now doomed to die all too soon. "Goodbye, Ronnie," she whispered as she laid the rose on the casket.

"What are you doing here?" a voice hissed.

Confused and annoyed, Grell turned only to find herself facing Emily. When they had met before, Grell had thought she was an average sort of pretty, but her grief had transformed her. While her reddened, puffy eyes wasn't what most would considered attractive, Grell could see the light of pure anguish shining deep within the green and gold depths of her irises. Her face had taken on a sort of glow as well that seemed to radiate around her like errant lightning. She was truly beautiful in that moment, although Ronald was no longer there to admire her. Grell opened her mouth to answer, but Emily didn't seem prepared to listen to anything she had to say.

"I asked what are you doing here?!" Emily screamed, and her voice echoed off the high ceiling of the library. Conversations around them hushed, and Grell could feel the weight of their eyes. She was used to being stared at since she was the biggest source of gossip at Dispatch, but now it angered her more than usual. Everyone should be focused on Ronald for a change and not her.

"I'm here to pay my respects," Grell replied through clenched teeth.

Emily laughed bitterly. "You have some nerve," she retorted, "How dare you come here when everyone knows you're in love with the bastard that killed Ronald!"

Grell gasped and lunged forward, not quite sure when her death scythe had suddenly appeared in her hand, as Emily jumped backwards only to land on the hard floor with a thud. Although there was fear in her face, that anger never left Emily's eyes as she stared up at Grell defiantly; despite the chainsaw that was now inches from her nose. For her part, Grell took several deep breaths to stop herself from slaughtering Ronald's girlfriend where she sat.

"Just so you know," Grell finally managed, "I plan to kill the beast that took Ronald away." Her voice was almost a growl and the entire library fell silent at the sound of her breath.

With those words, Grell marched from the library and back towards William's house. There had to be some way to find him, and she was going to discover it. As she stomped along, however, she felt the dampness on her cheeks and realized that she had begun to cry. It wasn't well known, but Grell had given up crying many years ago. Since her rebirth, she had promised herself that no one could bring her to tears again. She was strong now, and she had told herself she was beyond tears.

It looked like she had lied.

((x))

Although the house was modest compared to that of their neighbors, the parlor was immaculate and impressive. His mother had seen to that, and even in his youngest years, William could tell that it was important in some way he had yet to comprehend. Company was always escorted to the parlor, and their hushed tones and actions seemed almost more suited to a church, but William hated this room with a passion. For all it's fancy decor and furnishings, the room was haunted.

On the far wall over the fireplace, a single portrait hung of a young man who looked solidly about the room without a trace of a smile or humor, and he was the ghost that haunted this place. His name had been Martin, and he was actually William's older brother who had died before William had been born. Although he looked like an unassuming man in the portrait, and a bit like an older version of William, Martin had left behind an impossible legacy. Everything he had done was perfection and beyond rebuke. He excelled at everything he attempted, and he was the kind of son that every parent dreamed about having one day, until his untimely death.

His parents had mourned his passing, and they had thought they would never have another son, but then William came along. When they saw that he resembled their Martin, they rejoiced in thinking they had another chance at the perfect son, but they're hopes were soon dashed. Despite his best efforts, William just could never compare, and he was always left knowing he was a failure. He just couldn't compere with a ghost.

William could hear his parents in the other room as he slowly moved a chair into place just in front of the painting. He was going to toss that portrait into the fire and be done with it once and for all, even though his knew his parents would be angry. He would take their anger if that meant he would finally be done living in the shadow of a brother he had never even met.

"I hate you," William whispered to the painting, as his small hands took hold of the frame. A horrible, perverse laughter filled the room as he tossed the portrait into the fire and watched as the canvas began to bubble and warp. His brother's face twisted as if in agony, but the laughter only continued, and he figured out that wretched sound was somehow emitting from his own throat. Somehow, William wasn't even surprised.

((x))

William jerked awake almost painfully from the dream as his breath came in ragged gasps. He hadn't intended to fall asleep, nor had even felt tired, but he had undoubtedly succumbed to fatigue for him to fall victim to such an odd dream. Still struggling to catch his breath, he wiped away the sweat that gathered on his brow as he glanced down at the sheet of yellowed paper beneath his arm. A single sentence greeted his eyes. "My brother, Martin, was the perfect son." William had been trying to write a bit about his life, but somehow, those seven words told so much of the story.

That much of the dream had been accurate. His brother had died before he had even been born, but William had been put into constant competition for the ghost of the perfect son. No matter how hard he had tried, he had been haunted the realization that he could never measure up. The one time he had almost been able to succeed in the one area where Martin had failed, fate had found a way to stop him once more. It was then that William had realized that it was simply pointless to even try.

Oddly enough, the dream hadn't been entirely true. While William had been tempted to burn the painting of his brother, his mother had stopped him before he had even taken it down from the wall. He had never tossed into the fire, nor had ever laughed so horribly, but that laugh had still frighteningly familiar. "What's wrong with me?" he questioned aloud.

"Do you really want to know, darling?" asked the all too recognizable voice of Grell from the shadows.

William jumped to his feet as he turned around to face the red reaper. She was sitting on the steps leading down to this room in an almost casual manner, but he detected something very dangerous in her eyes. The candlelight gave her an orange like glow that suited her somehow as it danced off the lenses of her glasses and winked from the sharp blade of her scythe. He took a breath and straightened his form as he looked at her. "I'm surprised to see you, Sutcliff," he stated with false calmness, "How did you find me?"

Grell's smile grew as she leaned forward to reveal Rosalind setting on her shoulder. "You could say that a little bird told me," she replied, "All I had to do was to ask her to deliver a message, although I stopped her from actually giving you the note and waking you up. You appeared to be having a nightmare." Now that she seemed to realize Grell wouldn't stop her, Rosalind flew over and allowed William to remove a letter tied to her leg, which was blank. Her mission completed, she flew up to a rafter and rested comfortably.

"Perhaps," offered William in reference to the dream, although he preferred to change the subject, "I must commend you on using Rosalind. That was rather clever. So, what happens next at this point? Have you already reported my location?"

She shook her head and her crimson hair swished with her movement. "I don't suppose Upper Management ever informed you, love," she said, "about why they were so lenient on me when I was a bad girl not long ago."

"You killed women not on the death list, Sutcliff," he responded, "which I think counts for a bit more than just being, as you say, a bad girl, but you are right that I was never informed why you received so little punishment."

Grell's shrugged. "I didn't think you knew," she said, "They made me a recovery agent. I hunt down all the naughty little deserters. What do you think of that?"

"I didn't know," he replied, "but the occupation does suit you. So, have you come here to take me back to our realm to face punishment."

"Well, no one really cares if I bring you back or not," she explained, "since you were already slated to die for your crimes. Isn't that just perfect, Will? It is up to me to let you live until they kill you, or to kill you now. Either way, I will be your executioner."

"I suppose it is only fitting," he admitted as he took a step back. He actually wanted to submit since he had committed horrible acts and deserved punishment, but just as he knew he couldn't turn himself in, he knew he wouldn't go quietly. "I must warn you. I will resist."

"I know you will," she answered simply as she stood.

For the briefest of moments they simply looked at one another, but Grell was the one to make the first move as she leaped towards William in a blur of movement. William easily dodged as he called forth his own scythe, but he was surprised by how much she had improved since they had last fought. He was still stronger and faster, or at least he assumed that he was, but he had spent far more time behind a desk the last several years while she had remained in the field. It was only natural that her skills had improved.

"It's useless to resist, darling," she announced, rushing him from the front, "This was fated."

"Perhaps it was," he said, "but I still must resist."

"Must you?"

The question caught him off guard as he realized that despite the screaming and torment of his own brain, perhaps he still had some control over his actions. With every ounce of his willpower, he lowed his own scythe and leaned back his head. He only hoped that she would get this over with quickly as he felt cool metal touch his neck.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

A deep throaty scream filled William's ears causing him to wince, but he had no idea who was screaming. His own mouth was shut tightly as he waited for his deserved execution, and he knew that this was not Grell's voice. As the screaming began to fade, he suddenly realized that it was coming from inside his own head, and he opened his eyes in confusion. Grell was standing nearby, but she was making no move towards him. Her scythe was still in her grasp, but the blade was still as she looked at him with a rather unreadable expression. William dropped to his knees, amazed that his head was still attached, as he brought his hands up to his neck to feel at the strange object that had been placed there. "A collar?" he asked.

Grell nodded. "Of course," she explained, "That will help you control it."

"It?" he repeated as his head spun wildly. Despite his pounding head, he did feel oddly lighter and more like himself.

She seemed stunned. "Haven't you guessed, darling?" she asked, "You've been possessed."

Possessed. His mind played with the word, toyed with it, as things slowly slid into place. His uncontrollable moods, lapses of memory, and contorted emotions all made sense. "I'm possessed," he repeated, as he shakily stood to his feet. "I thought such a thing was impossible. How did this happen?"

Grell opened her mouth as if to answer, but shut it quickly as her eyes darted to the floor above them. William couldn't hear anything, but there was still a horrible ringing in his ears from the scream. In this moment, he could only trust that Grell and her ears. "Ssshh," she suddenly hushed him, "I'll have to explain later. Come on." She created a portal, and before William could protest, shoved him through rather roughly. She stepped through behind him, and he saw that Rosalind was now sitting on her shoulder. It would have been hard for William to explain, but he was very attached to the pigeon, and he would have hated if anything had happened to her. "We should be safe here," she announced, as she pulled out a small piece of paper and began to scrawl a quick note.

William had landed hard onto the floor; the combination of the rather startling news he was possessed as well as the constant tingling from the demonic restraint collar at his neck left him rather disorientated. Instead of trying to stand, he looked around at his surrounding to find they were in a rather nice, well decorated room. The furniture was all handcrafted and of the highest quality, and he was curious how Grell knew of such a place. While he was still musing on this, he saw Grell out of the corner of his eye, tie the note to Rosalind's leg. The bird almost seemed to smile now that she had been given a task, and quickly flew out of the room and on to her new destination.

"Where are we?" William asked, "Furthermore, what is happening? How could I, a reaper, be possessed?"

"We have time for answers later," she sang, as she started to leave the room, "Why don't I make us some nice tea first? It will calm us down."

"I don't want to calm down," he said as he stood, "and I think you are avoiding the conversation. You said you'll explain things, and I want that explanation. Tell me how I became possessed."

She sighed. "I'm partly to blame," she admitted before stepping back into the room and sitting on a plush red sofa. He sat down on a nearby chair and watched her intently to see if she was being truthful. "Do you remember that demon that attacked you just after my reap?"

"Of course," he replied, "You killed it."

She shook her head quickly. "I killed the body it was inhabiting, or at least what was left of the body. The smoke I saw afterwards was the demon. When I destroyed it's host, it was free to look for a new one."

"Don't be ridiculous, Sutcliff. Demons do not operate in that manner."

"This kind does," she explained, "It's not a demon I've ever heard of, and according to the information I got, it's never even been seen in this country before." Reaching into her back pocket, she removed several sheets of folded paper which she handed to him. "These demons," she continued, "search for prone individuals. They get the person to accept them somehow, and then they slowly eat the soul, memories, and body - all from the inside. They don't have a physical form as far as I know. Once the person dies or is killed they move on to their next target."

He glanced over the paperwork, "They don't even have a name for this type of demon," he mumbled, before laying the papers aside, "So, because I was unconscious, the demon was able to possess me. Is there anyway to remove it now? An exorcism or something similar?"

"I'm afraid it's not that easy, darling," answered Grell.

"Why is that?"

She looked down at the rug almost shyly, which scared him slightly since had never seen her appear so uncertain about anything. "While under it's control," she began, "You killed Ronnie."

He slumped slightly in his chair as he nodded. "Unfortunately, I know that to be the truth," he said, "but I don't see how-"

"And the demon ate his soul," Grell interrupted.

He gasped loudly as the weight of this information slammed into him. The demon had eaten Ronald's soul? That would mean he could never be reborn, and it had also caused the demon to fuse to his own soul. "I see," he finally said, but he even could hear the crack in his normally strong voice. He sagged down into his seat. "So, why did you bring me here rather than back to our realm? If you planned to execute me, you should have already done so."

"I'm not taking you back to be executed," she stated.

"Why not? I deserve it after what I've done. Even you said that you hated me."

"I did hate you," she explained, "but that was before I understood." She stood up and looked down at him. "You didn't kill Ronald. The demon did, and you can't blame yourself for what that thing did."

"I let it use me," he replied, "This is my fault, and now that I have control over myself once again, I am prepared to turn myself to face punishment." With those words said, he started to stand, but suddenly felt her hand on his chest as she shoved him back into the chair. He looked up to ask why she would stop him only to find her chainsaw mere inches from his nose.

"I am not going to let this thing win," she growled, "Don't you understand? If you are killed, the demon will just be free to possess someone else. Killing you will not kill this demon, and I'll be damned if I let that thing take away everything I hold dear. I made a promise to destroy it, and that's what I intend to do."

He blinked several times. "What I'm unsure of," he began, "is how you're going to do that. You've said that killing me won't destroy the demon, and that the demon cannot be exorcised. So what is left?"

She moved the chainsaw down slightly, but her expression didn't waver at first. "Pops is looking into it," she explained, "He's the one who told me to hide you for now. Upper Management wants to deny there's a demon like this, so they just want to have you executed quickly to hide the truth, but I'm not going to let that happen. Do you understand? I'm not going to let them take you away and let the demon win."

There was something in her voice and the cold light shimmering in her eyes that told him just how serious she was. "My only concern is that I cannot be trusted. This thing is still inside me after all. What if I do something else? What if the demon takes control?"

For the first time since explaining the situation, she smiled slightly and cocked her head curiously. "But that shouldn't happen, darling," she responded, "Not with that collar. Besides, Pops is looking information on the demon as we speak. Soon, we'll find some way to remove it from your body. Maybe we might even find a way to save Ronald." Sadness tempered her expression, and he was well aware she knew there was no way to save someone who's soul had been taken, but he saw that she was clinging to hope."

"What do we do then?" he asked.

"We wait," she said, "All we have to do is sit here and wait. Pops will figure out what to do and everything will be perfectly fine again. It will be just like it was before."

He nodded, although he didn't even think she believed what she was saying at the moment. "I will wait," he agreed, "but only for a short time. If we can't figure out what to do, I will have to turn myself in. Do you understand?"

"Of course I do, love," she said, as she stood up quickly and swiped at what have might been an invisible tear. "Now, how about I go and make that tea?"

He let this go and listened as she rummaged around in what he assumed was the kitchen, but his fears were far from relieved. He was glad that he wasn't going crazy or had been wholly responsible for actions, but he knew things could never go back to the way they were before.

Real life just didn't work that way.

((x))

Spectacles was at the heart of Dispatch; a almost living central in this realm of the dead. Countless reapers walked through the brightly lit corridors, waiting for their chance to regain their sight, and there was always this hum of activity. Anderson sat in the middle of it all, and he was fully aware that his own talent for custom frames gave him a bit of power and authority. His human life had long since been forgotten, but he somehow knew he had been a quiet, unassuming man. It wasn't in his nature to seek fame or notoriety, yet everyone here knew his name, and this gave him a sort of pseudo power. He wasn't so foolish to think this gave him the freedom to act with impunity or carelessness, but he wasn't blinded that he was given a sort of leeway. There had been a recovery agency beforehand, but he had been the one to organize the system and suggest that those who had to pay off debts and punishments. So far, it had worked out well, and Upper Management had left him alone for the most part.

When the workday ended, so Anderson had left the bright lights and flawlessly white walls of Spectacles for the shadowy realm of his second 'job'. Oddly enough, he felt as if he belonged here even if this position lacked the attention of working on glasses for every active reaper. He was just getting settled with a sudden hush fell over the other patrons of the shadows. Quickly, he looked up and saw a man whom he had never seen before walking towards him. He was a typical man with short, well combed brown hair, an unremarkable dark suit, and simple glasses, but Anderson knew this man was Upper Management. It was just something in the manner he walked and how his eyes scanned the area that gave away his identity. Quickly, the man locked eyes with Anderson, and his stride was purposeful as he walked towards the simple booth. Anderson nerves tightened slightly, but he just wiped away some imaginary dust as if he hadn't even noticed the tall man walking his way. His heart was pounding in his ears to the point he barely heard the man when he simply said, "Lawrence Anderson?"

"Yes?" Anderson replied with false calmness. He raised his eyes to look up at the man and noticed that neither of them was smiling. This man wasn't even trying to pretend this was anything less than official business.

"I have a new agent that will be working for you," the man said, "She is to be assigned to the Spears' case." He stepped aside and motioned to a woman that Anderson hadn't noticed before.

He had only seen her a few times, and the last time had been when young Knox had introduced her as his girlfriend, Emily. Anderson had thought she hadn't looked as flashy as his previous girlfriends, but now there was a radiant anger emanating from her that gave her an ethereal like beauty. Anderson could have asked questions for, as he had understood it, the woman had never worked in the field nor had he heard of any sort of crime she had committed, but he knew that questions were dangerous. "Of course," he agreed, and the tall man nodded and left without another word.

Emily wasted no time. "I need everything you have on Spears," she announced, "and Sutcliff as well."

"I'm afraid I do not have Spears' file," Anderson replied honestly, "I gave it to Agent Sutcliff, who had already taken the case. However, I can tell you that there wasn't much to the file. Mr. Spears had few interests outside of work, and he did not go to the living realm without specific reason." He paused briefly as he allowed her to absorb the information. "Furthermore, I only have files on deserters. Since Agent Sutcliff is not a deserter, I don't have her file." He left out the information about William being possessed as he knew she wouldn't listen, and Upper Management was still in denial.

"You old fool!" Emily hissed, "Sutcliff didn't show up today. You know as well as I do that freak ran off to be with her precious William. Sutcliff is a deserter, and I demand her file!"

Anderson stood his ground. "Until Agent Sutcliff is officially declared a deserter, there is nothing I can do. I can make you a copy of Spears' file, and it will be ready tomorrow, but that is all I can do for now."

She muttered something under her breath that might have been a swear, although Anderson couldn't make out her exact words, and she turned to stomp away. As Anderson watched her leave, he realized how dangerous she had become. While she had never been trained for the field, and he doubted that she had more than a rookie scythe, she was truly grieving the loss of Ronald.

And grief was a powerfully dangerous emotion.

((x))

As Grell made tea, humming as she did so, William took the time to examine their temporary home. He still hated the idea of simply sitting around and waiting, so he tried to hide his annoyance by simply looking around. It was a rather nice home, which he had immediately noticed, which he supposed was a positive since they had to use it as a hiding place, but then he stepped into what he assumed to be some sort of parlor. Like in his own childhood home, the room was dominated by a painting, but this was no portrait of a long dead brother. The subject of the painting was a beautiful woman with crimson red hair. Her low cut gown revealed generous cleavage, and there was secret behind those slightly upturned ruby lips. William almost staggered backwards under the realization that they were in that woman's house; Angelina Dalles, a.k.a Madam Red.

"Tea's ready," Grell called out, "Now, where are you?" She walked into the room and smiled gently. Setting the tea down, she lowered herself in a nearby plush chair. "Why don't you rest, darling?" she asked.

"This is her house, isn't it?" William asked, pointing to the portrait, "Angeline Dalles."

"Her husband's actually," Grell answered, "One of his more modest homes, although it should be fine for our needs."

"Do you not think this is a bit obvious for a hideout, considering...your history?"

She looked up at him steadily for a minute. "It should be fine. This house isn't necessarily attached to Ann, and Pops was the one who suggested it. He knows what information is given out after all. There should even be some time before I'm considered a deserter."

Her answer was logical, which was all he usually demanded, but there was still so many nagging questions in his mind. He sat down heavily. "There is just one thing I need to know," he said.

"What's that?"

He looked at her for several minutes. "Why?" he finally asked, "Why did you do all that? Kill those women and join up with Angelina Dalles? I never understood."

She took a sip of tea. "You may not believe this," she began, "but no one has asked me that before. When I was taken before Upper Management, there were a lot of questions. Mostly it was 'how' I could have broken rules and regulations, but no one asked why." Setting her cup aside, she ran her fingers though her hair and looked at it as if examining for split ends. "It's a bit of a long story, and I'm not sure how you'll feel about it. Are you sure you want to know?"

"Yes," he answered immediately, "Tell me."

Expression faded from her face, and he waited patiently for her to begin. "You know how ever so often there's this new thing from Upper Management about some secret or whatever to redemption?" When he nodded, she continued. "A few years ago, it was all about any regrets from our human lives. It was really annoying and useless." She stood up suddenly. "I don't have any regrets from my human life. I was weak and scared, and now I'm not." She paused suddenly to look down at William with an odd smile. "One day," she said, "I was going into your office to give you some papers, when I heard one of those quacks from psychiatric. Now, do don't get mad darling, but I couldn't resist listening. All I could think of was that maybe I could help you with whatever it was you regretted." She sighed loudly. "But you know what I heard you say, don't you Will? You said the thing you regretted most was not having a son. I was willing to give you anything to make you happy, but that was one thing I couldn't give you." She sat down again, and an uncomfortable silence followed.

"I think I remember saying something like that," he said, trying to break some of the tension.

"But then I thought there might be a way," she continued, "I was always very talented at changing my appearance, and I heard there was ancient, forbidden magic that could allow me to change, uh, more about myself. I thought there might be a way I could give you that son you wanted. I started searching, and I finally did find some of the old texts. Slowly, I worked to do that very thing, and I almost made it, until..." Her voice trailed off.

"Until?" he prompted.

"I was discovered," she said, "Just before I could do it, I was caught. I was sent to your office because I had broken some rule, and you gave me overtime." She laughed bitterly. "I could never even tell you why I was in trouble. Then, on my first note of overtime, I saw Ann." She stared up at the painting and smiled. "I was upset and frustrated," she continued, "I felt like I was being punished by you for trying to do something for you, although I know that wasn't the case rationally. While I was dealing with all this, I saw Ann step from the shadows and brutally kill a whore. Afterwards, she gave a soliloquy so sweet, Shakespeare would have wept at its protection. She stood there in that dank, dark alley, covered in that woman's blood, as she talked about how she could never hold the man she loved, her anguish about not being able to have children, and anger towards those who took it for granted. I know I was wrong, but at that time, looking at her was like looking into a mirror. I felt like we were one in the same."

He was surprised to hear her speak so candidly. "So you decided to help her?" he asked.

"Not right away," she answered, "I watched a few more of her murders before I introduced myself. She was more than a bit in shock, but soon we found we could help each other. I could help her kill those women without being detected, and I could work off some anger and aggression. Of course, it didn't last."

Standing up, she stretched out the coat. "As you know, I took this coat from Ann after I killed her, but it wasn't really Ann's coat. I actually saw it first, and I wanted it. However, when I tried it on..." For the first time in front of him, she arranged the coat so it set properly, but he could see it was a bit too tight in the shoulders and the sleeves were noticeably short. "I hated that it didn't fit me right," she continued, "but then Ann tried it and it fit her like a dream. I told myself it was okay because we were like the same person, but it always hurt to see her wearing my coat and how beautiful she looked in it." Slipping the coat back to its original position, she sat back down once again. William couldn't help but notice the nervous energy that kept her jumping up and down, although he choose not to mention it.

"It wasn't until she refused to kill that brat," she finally said, "that the illusion was shattered. I was not Ann and she was not me. We were two totally different individuals who were just using each other. And she was wearing my coat."

A pregnant silence followed. "Do you have any remorse?" he finally asked.

"For killing Ann? Yes, a little. I know it was an impulsive act. She was using me, but I was also using her, and I miss having someone that I could talk to like I did her. She betrayed me, and I know she probably would have died anyway, but I can't help but wish that she hadn't died by my hand." Grell sighed softly before continuing. "But I don't regret killing the other women. They had made the decisions that led to their deaths. If I hadn't helped Ann, then someone else would have killed them. It was their fault really."

He thought she was being rather harsh, and he certainly didn't agree with her, but he admired her honesty. He wished he could say something fitting in this situation, but the words seemed to escape him as he looked about until his eyes settled on a nearby window. "It's getting late," he said, "We should probably rest. It's been a long day."

((x))

Although Grell had slept in this bed many times in the past, she seemed to have trouble falling asleep. She knew she was worried what William thought of her now that she had told him the entire story, but he had asked her directly. Besides, it felt good to finally be able to tell someone the truth. Finally, her mind quietened down enough and she began to drift down under the waves of sleep.

Suddenly, a scream ripped through the house, and she shot out of bed. Even before her bare feet hit the floor, her scythe was in her hand as she rushed towards the source of the sound. Without even pausing, she threw open the door to the room where William had been sleeping, only to see him sitting upright in bed with his face buried in his hands. There was no apparent danger, but she kept her scythe in her left hand as she approached him. "Will?" she asked, reaching out to gently touch him.

He knocked her hand away roughly, and looked up at her with rage filled eyes. "Why didn't you tell me?" he hissed.

"Tell you what?" she asked, but before he could answer, they were interrupted by a soft tapping at the window.


	7. Chapter 7

The nightmare, the horrible visions, assualted William's brain, and he was helpless to make it stop. Finally, a scream burst from his lungs and he was able to sit up in the bed. His breath came in ragged gasps, as he held his head in his hands. Even though he was awake, he couldn't shake the memories that continued to play like black cinematic record.

Gell must have entered the room, although he hadn't heard her, because he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Will?" she asked.

He knocked her hand away and stared up at her. "Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded.

"Tell you what?" Grell asked. She seemed genuinely confused, and might have asked again had there not been a soft tapping at the window. She looked at him for a moment before she walked across the room; her bare feet padding quietly across the wood. For the first time, he noticed she was dressed in a pair of red and black silk pajamas, and her hair had been pulled back in a sensible braid. He tried not to look, but he couldn't help but think about how much better she looked when her hair was loose and wild.

She opened the window and Rosalind flew into the room. The pigeon paused to let Grell retrieve a note carefully tied to her leg before flying over to William. He resisted the urge to shoo the bird away as he felt he didn't deserve her comfort at the moment, but that would have only confused Rosalind. He allowed her to perch on her shoulder as he liked while Grell looked over letter.

"It's from Pops," she announced, "They assigned Emily to your case. I don't think you met her but she was Ron...she was a secretary. Odd choice really. I doubt she has anything more than a practice scythe and isn't experienced in recovery."

Quietly she read he rest of the letter to herself, and he was well aware she had almost said something she had thought better of, but he decided not to challenge her at the moment. His head still hurt as the forbidden images continued to play in his mind, so was only watching her out of the corner of his eye. She captured his attention fully however, as she began to remove her glasses. "What are you doing?" he asked. His voice was hoarse from his earlier yelling.

"Upper Management is about to declare me a deserter," Grell explained, as she motioned for Rosalind, "So I need to go ahead and give up my glasses before they can be used to track me." She handed the eye wear to Rosalind, who took the chain carefully in her beak. "Pops has already instructed Rosalind here to drop my glasses somewhere random.

He jumped from the bed and ran across the room. "You can't desert," he said, "not for me. Not after what I've done." He shook his head as anger flooded his sense. "Why didn't you tell me that I tried to rape you?!"

Confusion fluttered across her face like an errant butterfly, but then she simply smiled. "Oh, don't worry about that, darling," she said, "Passion just swept us away, and you couldn't resist me."

"Don't!" he growled as he roughly grabbed her arm, "Don't turn what happened into some sort of sick fantasy for your perverted mind!"

A shadow fell upon her features and he saw a danger green fire kindling in her eyes. "Perverted!" she spat, "Is that what you think of me?" With a noise of disgust, she jerked her arm away as she pushed past him to leave, but paused at the doorway to turn and face him. "Just so you know, William," she said, "I hadn't turned anything into any sort of fantasy. I recognize that it was the demon that made you act like that. You're not a rapist, and I know that, and you especially wouldn't try and rape me. You can't even stand me!"

With a huff, she left the room and slammed the door behind her with enough force that William briefly feared she might have broken it. He stood in the center of the room in silence, while Rosalind looked at him with curious eyes. "You should go," he said to her. She looked at him for a few more moments before flapping her wings to fly out into the night. He walked to the window to watch disappear, but he couldn't stop thinking about his argument with Grell. In truth, he had been angry at himself and had taken it out on her. It wasn't fair nor was it even the first, but now he planned to do something he had never done before. He was going to apologize.

He stepped into the hallway and started to turn towards Grell's room when he saw the glow of light coming from downstairs. As he followed the light, he realized that Grell had built a crackling fire in the parlor, and he had to admit the warmth would feel good. It was late autumn, and there was a chill to the night. Quietly, he walked into the parlor only to see Grell sitting in a chair with her feet under her body as she watched the fire. Her face was pale in the reflected light, but her eyes were glistening as if filled with tears she hadn't yet cried. She didn't look at him when he walked into the room and sat down on the couch.

Several minutes passed as he searched for the right words. "I'm sorry," he finally said, "I should have never have insinuated you were perverted."

She snorted. "Those are the rumors, Will," she said, "and I'm well aware of that. I've heard the whispers and gossip."

"But I wasn't being fair." He sighed deeply, "That demon let me see what I almost did to you," he explained, "I had to watch the whole thing, but I couldn't stop it, and it scared me."

"You saw it?" she asked, turning towards him slightly.

"Yes," he said, nodding, "I didn't remember any of it, but now I see why you said you hated me when you came to see me in prison. It wasn't just because of what I did to Ronald."

"What the demon did," Grell quickly corrected, "Did it show you anything else?"

"Not yet, although I say I will see everything soon enough. I am in control of my actions now, but it can still attack me in my dreams." He paused as he studied her features. "And you are mistaken, Grell. I don't not hate you nor can I barely stand you."

"Then why do you act like you do around me?" she asked, turning to face him directly. She blinked a few times nearsightedly, and he doubted he was much more than a blur to her at the moment.

"Because I didn't understand you," he replied, "I never have. You are intriguing but confusing. I want to understand." He paused as he looked up at the picture of Madam Red. "That's why I asked you about her," he said, pointing, "I know it probably came up out of nowhere, but I had to know. I was hoping it would help me to understand."

"Did it?" she asked.

"Somewhat," he said, "but I am still confused. I just don't understand how you could let things get so far out of hand. I knew you could be impulsive, but I never thought you'd go that far. That's what I need to know. How? Was it her?" He gestured again towards the painting, which seemed to smile mockingly at him. "You say you loved her, but were you..." His voice trailed as he found himself hesitant to vocalize his thoughts.

"Was I what?" she asked, "Sleeping with her?" William nodded, causing Grell to throw back her head and laugh almost madly. "Darling, you really don't understand, do you? Ann was in love with her brother-in-law. Obsessed is probably a better word, honestly. She could have never loved me in that fashion. I couldn't have satisfied her, nor could she had done so far me. I also was in love with another, and she could have never taken you place." She turned away slightly. "But maybe I'm just as foolishly obsessed as she was."

This conversation was making him somewhat uncomfortable. She had confessed her feelings towards him so many times, but this was one of the first times he believed her words. "You still haven't haven't answered my other question about how it went so far," he said.

"It's hard to say," she admitted, "I always had all this anger and aggression, and it seemed like it was safe to express it through Ann. At first, I was only collecting souls and helping her set alibis and move around safely. I could watch, but the next thing I knew there was a knife in my hand. Each time I slashed those women, it was like I was killing all those people who call me a whore or Slutcliff behind my back." She laughed bitterly. "Madness is a slippery slope, Will, and I've always been right on the edge. Isn't that true of all reapers though?" Turning around, she put her feet on the floor and leaned towards him. "Now, it's your turn to answer my questions. You say you don't hate me, but you're so rough on me at times. I like my men cold and hard, but there are times you hurt me. Why? Why do you treat me like that?"

He hadn't been prepared for that question. "It is my job as supervisor to keep all my agents in line," he said gruffly.

"I don't buy that, darling," she retorted, "You are rough with everyone, but you are especially hard on me, and you know it. It's been like since my time with Ann. Is that it?"

"I don't think that's relevant."

"Why not?" she asked, "I've been honest with you, and now it's your turn. Why are you meaner to me? Why do you hit me so callously?"

"Because I almost lost you!" he suddenly admitted but then he shut up quickly. He could tell by the look on her face, he had said far more than he had intended, but there was no turning back. "I thought you were going to be taken away after you committed those murders," he said, "You almost were, and that...scared me. Perhaps I am too rough, but I don't want you to step out of line and miss your chance at redemption. I don't want you to be taken away."

She looked confused. "You're mean to me because you care?"

"That's a stupid reason," he said, "and it's not an excuse." He ran a hand through his uncombed hair. "I'm sorry," he added, "I was too rough on you. I had my reasons, but it was wrong. I don't have any excuse my actions and I can only ask for your forgiveness. If I am still your supervisor after all this is over, I will not hit or abuse you. I will still have to make sure you do your job, but I will not be abusive."

"Perhaps you could just promise not to hit regardless of being being my supervisor," she suggested.

He nodded again. "I promise," he said, "I should have never been so rough on you in the first place. I will never lay hands on you again."

Smiling, she stood up and stretched. "At least not in anger," she said, "I don't care if you lay hands on me in other ways." With a flirtatious laugh, she turned and started back towards her bedroom. "I'll be ready to go in a bit."

"Go? Go where?"

"To the market," she answered, "We don't have much in the way of supplies, and it's almost morning."

"I'll go with you," he offered.

"I don't think that's a good idea," she said, "You were never that good at disguises, and you are wanted at this time. I might not be listed as a deserter just yet, and I was best at altering my appearance." She glanced back over her shoulder with a mischievous shine to her eyes. "I know you don't like to hang around and do nothing, but do let me take care of you just a bit." With a light laugh, she disappeared down the hallway.

((x))

London was bustling as usual as Grell walked through, but no one even seemed to glance in direction. Of course, that had been the point of a good disguise, but there was still a part of Grell that balked at the idea of simply blending in and appearing like another common person. She was proud of this disguise though, and even William had seemed impressed. She was wearing one of Madam Red's more demure dresses, and one of the few that was actually pink instead of red. Her hair was a plain dark blonde color, and her eyes a dull hazel behind the plain glasses she had saved from when she had played a butler. Although a few of men had nodded courteously as she walked about, but no one took as much as a second glance at her. It was a shame in a way, but at least she was doing something to help Will and her. Money was limited, and she wasn't sure if Pops could send any there way for some time, but she knew how to shop on a budget. Plus, soon she would have a chance to show William that she was an excellent cook. She had been practicing for the last century after all. As she walked about looking for the best ingredients, she began to hum a happy tune. William and her were actually talking and communicating, and soon she would have a chance to win him over with her culinary expertise. Just as she was looking at some potatoes, she heard a voice that she immediately recognized.

"The person I'm looking for is a redhead - very red."

Grell turned slowly; pretending she wasn't searching for the source, and was only mildly surprised to see Emily standing there talking to someone nearby. Despite herself, Grell smiled slightly. While it was commendable that Emily had even thought to check the market, she certainly knew nothing about investigating.

The man Emily had been speaking with shook his head and quickly walked away. Emily was visible exasperated as she looked about the crowd, but her eyes didn't so much as pause as she scanned past Grell. Clenching her fists in anger, she turned and stomped down off the street; drawing more attention than she should to herself in the situation, but most only stepped out of her way. Curious, Grell quickly paid for her items as she began to safely follow Emily from a distance. She wanted to know what Emily's next move might be, even though Grell didn't really think of her as a serious threat. She kept a safe distance as she followed Emily, who disappeared around a corner. Grell didn't still wasn't all that concerned when she reached the corner and peeked around, but what she saw actually caused her heart to beat a bit faster.

Emily wasn't alone, and the tall, broad shouldered man she was speaking to at the moment wasn't a stranger to Grell. Despite the warmth of the autumn sun, Grell felt a chill pass over her as she looked at the member of Upper Management she knew as Mr. Robert Collins. He was the same imposing figure as before, and not even the gentle breeze could move a strand of his black, perfectly groomed hair. While Emily wasn't a threat, this man certainly was, and Grell knew that he hated her. When she had been brought in after the Jack the Ripper affair, he had made it no secret he had wanted her imprisoned for all of her eternity. It was as if he couldn't even look in her direction without curling his lips back in disgust.

Slowly, she started to back away from the corner in hopes that her presence would remain unnoticed, but suddenly an unearthly hissing filled her ears. She whirled about to find herself facing a snow white cat with mix-matched eyes. The blue and yellow eyes narrowed as it bared it sharp teeth and hissed again. Like Collins, she had seen this cat before and knew it was Collins familiar, Virgil. The feline was no doubt alerting Collins to her location, so Grell knew she had to get out of here in a hurry.

Creating a portal took time, so Grell took off running and quickly jumped up on a nearby roof. Some of the people might have seen her, but she no longer cared as she knew she had to escape. She didn't want to run straight back to William, however, as they still might be able to follow her. In fact, William was the very reason she didn't stay and fight. While she might have been able to stop Collins with force, she had to consider what as best for William as well. Thinking quickly, she jumped down into the street and hurried into the back entrance of Undertaker's shop. Hoping his subbasement was still a secret, she slipped through the secret opening and closed the door behind her. Hoping the leftover smell of chemicals and embalming agents would mask her own scent, she moved away from the door and waited in the darkness.

Time passed slowly, but then Grell heard the door opening and two sets of footsteps echoing from above. Even the occasional meow reached her ears. "Looks like we lost the freak," Emily growled.

"Sutcliff must have created a portal," Collins replied, "Because Virgil here is hard to trick. At least we know our two troublesome reapers are still in the area."

"Unless they decide to run now," Emily said.

There was a soft, unpleasant laugh. "Those fools will stay nearby" Collins stated, "I'm sure of it, which is good since they have yet to be chipped. Let's head back to streets and continue surveillance."

Grell heard what sounded like them walking out the door once again, but she didn't move right away in case this was simply a trap. As she moved about in the darkness, her foot stuck something heavy and she leaned down to touch the item. It was a book. In fact, she remembered the floor was practically littered with books, and Undertaker had been studying things like demons along with other subjects. Hoping something in the texts could help William, she gathered some of the books along with her groceries before creating a portal to return to her temporary home.

((x))

William had never been comfortable with just sitting around doing nothing. It was part of his nature to keep himself busy and occupied, but now there seemed to be so little that he could do. He was being hunted, and there was still the matter of the demon inside of him. Occasionally, he could even hear it's warped, rumbling laughter, but it seemed to be powerless other than affecting his dreams or the occasional uncharacteristic thought. The collar had it under control, but he still hated the idea that it was alive and living within him. He wanted it gone, and he would turn himself in if there was no other method.

"Will, darling," Grell sang out from the doorway, "I'm back. Mind giving me a hand?"

He quickly followed her voice and saw that she did have quite an armful. As he stepped closer, she handed him several large, thick books. "What are these?" he asked.

"I picked them up at Undertaker's," she answered, "He was doing a lot of research, so I thought there might be some information there about the demon."

"Good idea," he said, as she stepped past him to take the food into the kitchen. Although she was smiling, he couldn't help but notice a certain nervousness to her features and voice. "Did something happen?" he asked as he followed her to the kitchen.

"Why do you ask, love?" Grell questioned as she began to look through the pans until she retrieved a sizable pot. "How does stew sound?" she asked, "It was costly, but I got some nice ingredients."

"That would be fine," he said, "but you didn't answer my question. Did something happen today?"

She hesitated. "I ran into Emily," she said, "She's the recovery agent I told you about from Pop's letter. I didn't think she's a threat, so I followed her to see if she knew anything." Pausing, she began to rinse the vegetables.

"And?" he prompted.

"She wasn't alone," Grell admitted, "I saw her talking to someone from Upper Management, and this guy is dangerous. Do you know Robert Collins?"

"I've never met him," William answered, "although I have heard his name."

"Well, I've met him," she said, "and I'm not precisely one of his favorites." Filling the pot with water, she put in a large stew bone before moving it onto the stove. "He was able to spot me even in disguise, or at least his cat, Virgil, was able to, and they chased me to Undertaker's. I was able to hide in the subbasement though, but I heard him talking." She turned to face William directly, and for the first time, she truly looked scared. "He says he knows we're in the area, and I know this guy won't stop until he finds us. If he finds you, he'll kill you, Will. What should we do?"

He had never seen her look so concerned, and it touched him. "What do you mean?" he asked, "Are you thinking I should turn myself in now?"

"Of course not!" she cried, "but do you think we should go somewhere else. He says he knows we're in the area. Maybe we should move farther away."

"Where would we go?" he asked, but then he sighed softly. "If we start running, we'll only keep running. If you think there's some way to destroy this demon, we should stay in one place and search for a method. I'll put up a shield over the house, and we'll leave if we need to, but for now we'll stay."

"I suppose," Grell agreed, reluctantly, "but you should know one thing. If Collins comes after you, I will kill him. Don't even try to stop me."

With a jerky anger to her movements, she started to chop up vegetables, and William knew there was no use in arguing with her. Leaving her alone to cook, he set up putting a celestial barrier. While it wouldn't do much to keep out other reapers, it would alert them if anyone crossed the barrier and give some extra time for escape. Of course, he wasn't even sure he would try to escape. He would gladly turn himself in to protect Grell.

((x))

Emily sat quietly in darkened room in the dwindling light of the fading sun. The cheap room didn't look as shabby or disheveled in the shadows, but the tattered surroundings suited her state of mind. She held a small picture of Ronald in her trembling hands, and she had to choke back tears as she gently touched his face. In her mind, she could hear his easy laugh and feel the gentle touch of his hand. It was wrong he had been taken away from her so brutally, and she planned to do all she could to punish those responsible.

"We came close to catching, Sutcliff today," Collin said as he walked into the room.

"Close isn't good enough!" she snapped, "Sutcliff and Mr. Spears have to pay for what they've done, and I will make sure they do."

He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Hold on to that rage," he instructed, "It will serve us well. Are you ready for the shot?"

"Of course," she answered simply, as she held up her bared arm.

It was a simple procedure which caused little to no pain, but Emily no longer cared. She welcomed any pain as an old friend that helped her carry on through her days.

"Now, I'll be able to find you wherever you go," Collins said, "This should have been done long ago with all reapers, but I see it was up to me to make sure it will be done now." Still talking to himself, he left the room, but Emily didn't watch him. She continued to look at her picture and silently promise Ronald that she would do what had to be done.

((x))

The fire danced and crackled before them as they listened to the silence of the autumn night. Since going to town, Grell's moods had been rapidly switching. There were times she was unusually quiet, such as she was now, but that would quickly give way to nervous talking and even ranting. William understood for even he didn't feel entirely comfortable sitting here even beneath the barrier, but he had been honest when he had said he didn't want to start running. Their focus had to be on the demon, although he had yet to find any answers in the old books. He only hoped there was an answer to be found.

He looked over at Grell who was sitting on the floor beside him. "That was a very good stew," he said, "I didn't know you could cook."

She laughed. "I learned how for you," she replied, "I wanted to be the perfect wife for you one day."

"Oh," he managed in a nervous tone as he was unsure what to say to that.

"It's good that we've been so honest and talked so much," she said, happily, "I feel like I'm really getting to know you for the first time."

He took a deep breath. 'There is one thing I haven't told you yet."

"What's that?"

"Well, we've been honest with each other, but there's one more story I need to tell you, and I think this is important." He cleared his throat before starting. "It's why not having a son was my regret from life. She sat up suddenly and leaned closer, and he almost smiled at her eagerness. "I had a brother," he began, "His name was Martin, but he died before I was born. My parents didn't even think they'd have another child, but then I was born."

"So you were like a miracle child?" she asked, "Your parents' second chance?"

"In a way," he answered, "but it was more like they wanted their first son back, and I was no replacement." Pausing, he stared at the fire as searching for answers. "Nothing I ever did was good enough," he said, "I was always compared to Martin, and I always came up short. After some time, I quit trying. I knew I would only fail anyway."

"Oh, Will," she said, "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay, but I do need to tell you this. Time passed, and I became used to being a disappointment to my parents. I took a job in my father's bank, just as Martin had, but then I was pressured to get married. Another family of similar status had a daughter they wanted to be married, and my father thought we would be a good match. I had no real interest in marrying her, but then I realized I could succeed in the one area my brother had failed."

He turned towards her and their faces were almost touching. "My brother had died before he married or had any children, and my father wanted a grandson to carry on the family name. If I could father a son, I wouldn't be a disappointment. I would be the son they always wanted and not my brother. I did love the girl, but we married in a simple ceremony and started life together. After about a year, Mary, that was her name, announced she was expecting. She was far more excited than I was, but I thought things were finally going to work out for me."

"What happened?"

"Mary lost the baby," he answered simply, "It wasn't anyone's fault. It just happened. Of course, she was upset, but I couldn't be there to comfort her. I was too wrapped up in my own feelings of failing once again, and I didn't even see that she needed me. It was a scandal at the time, but she left to go back to her parents. No doubt, they would have talked her into coming back had I given her any time, but I had simply had enough." He had never admitted all this out loud before, and he was shocked by all the emotions he had been holding back all this time. "I realized I would forever be in Martin's shadow. Even if I had fathered a son, I would have still heard how my son wasn't as good as a son my brother might have had if he had lived. I was just tired of it, so I finally decided to escape. Of course, I didn't escape since I wound up here, but at least everyone refers to me as Spears or William rather than Martin's brother." A single tear finally escaped his eye.

Grell gently wiped the tear away. "Your brother could never have been half the man you are," she said confidently.

William managed a smile, but then he noticed the way the firelight danced on her skin, highlighting her features and resting on her lips like a flickering shade of lipstick. They were so close, and he realized they were moving closer by the second. They had talked and revealed their truth selves to one another for the first time. There was nothing between them now.

 _"Except your need to ravage her,"_ a tiny voice whispered in his head.

William jerked back suddenly at the acidic voice, and he knew it was the demon. It was warping his wants and desires, so it would be unfair to kiss her now no matter how tempting she looked at this moment. "It's late," he said, "We should get some rest."

He turned away quickly, but he couldn't erase the image of hurt and confusion he had clearly seen on her face.


	8. Chapter 8

The room was brightly lit from a series of massive windows that let the realm's false sunlight pour inside. Instead of making a space where all was revealed, however, it created shadows and darkness in those few spots where the light could not touch; places where secrets could hide. Collins sat quietly as he allowed his eyes to scan the other men at the table. They all looked alike with their black suits, well groomed hair, and somber expressions, but he knew their minds were all very different. They brought their own opinion to this meeting which clung to their forms like cheap cologne. The collective smell was a foul stench, but there was a way to change and warp opinions so that they all had the same scent. He had been patient and waited, but it appeared as if his time was almost at hand.

Mumbles rippled about the room as the situation was discussed in hushed tones, but Collins only sat and waited. One of the men, a Mr. Perkins by name, cleared his throat loudly and the whispered conversations slowly began to diminish. "Gentleman," he said, "We have to discuss this current situation. The issue of deserters is only growing, and now we have this situation with Spears. He's killed a total of four reapers and has apparently convinced Sutcliff to join him."

Someone snorted. "I doubt Sutcliff was that hard to convince," a soft tone stated which prompted a few laughs.

Perkins narrowed his eyes which ended the laughter. "This is serious," he chastised, "Out of control reapers can cause a serious disruption in the balance of things, and Spears might be the worst since the deserter who's name we had stricken from the records. Now, Collins has asked to say a few words to all of you."

Collins stood up and waited for all eyes to fall on him. "Sirs," he said, "The situation we now face is a dire one. Agents are searching for Spears and Sutcliff as we speak, but without any luck. Our hope now is that they may be captured quietly and before they can do any harm." He paused briefly as he slowly started to circle the table. "However, this situation could have been avoided."

"Wait a second, Collins," a blonde man said, "Are you talking about your chipping program again?"

"I am," Collins answered, "I suggested it to the board some years back, but my proposal was turned down."

"Because it seemed unreasonably invasive," Perkins said, "Putting chips inside of agents' bodies so we can monitor their every move?" He shook his head and adjusted his glasses. "We are all prisoners here, but I don't think the answer is to treat all the agents as if they are nothing more than dogs to be collared."

Collins smiled dryly. "What is more unreasonable?" he asked, "To put small, harmless devices inside of agents that could provide protection in case one goes rogue, or to let situations like this with Spears go unchecked? If Spears had been chipped, he would have already been discovered and stopped. Sutcliff wouldn't have even had a chance to be persuaded. We wouldn't even need this discussion.

There was another wave of hushed talk, and Collins could tell he had made some headway with this group. After a few minutes, Perkins raised his hand to silence the group. "You have made some excellent points, Collins," he said, "Please allow us some time to discuss this matter."

"Thank you," Collins said with mock humility," I will return to my office in the meantime." He nodded politely and walked confidently out of the boardroom. Even in the hall, he didn't dare drop his act. He would have loved to fall against the door laughing as he though of the most creative curse words for those fools inside, but he had to keep up his image. He politely smiled and acknowledge people until he made it back to his large, well furnished office.

Even before he had shut the door, a slender, blonde man approached. "How did the meeting go, Mr. Collins?" he asked. He held a pen and paper in this tight, nervous grasp and seemed prepared to take any necessary notes.

"It went well, Bishop," Collins said, "Not perfect. i still think there's some resistance, but it will be hard to deny the genius of chipping all reapers. Besides, any that will resist will reveal themselves to be enemies and must be eliminated. They can not exist in our new reality."

"Yes, sir," Bishop readily agreed for he had heard all this before, "Do you need anything sir?"

"I am fine for now," Collins said, "And I do have something that should be done right away. I need to visit Spectacles."

"Are you having a problem with your glasses, sir?" Bishop asked, but Collins didn't take the time to answer.

Leaving his assistant behind, Collins emerged from his office and walked down the hall with exaggerated bravado, but the smile on his face was anything but exaggerated. Everything was falling into place, just like the old prophesy had mentioned. Things were changing in their realm to make way for New Death, even if that meant getting rid of interlopers like Spears and Sutcliff.

Perhaps even Anderson.

((x))

William had been awake for some time, but he simply lay on the bed as he studied the ceiling. It wasn't like him to lie around and be hesitant, but so much had happened in a short period of time. He had often heard people say that certain events felt unreal as if it had been nothing more than a dream, but this was no dream. It was a nightmare from which he couldn't wake. It was so easy for him to look back into his memory and remember who he used to be. Just a short time ago, he had been a normal supervisor with a tenuous control over his subordinates. He had been stressed, but he had a certain understanding as to how the world around him worked. Now, he was lying in a strange bed in a strange house. He was a deserter and a rule breaker. He had become a murderer. If there was anyway it was possible, he would turn back the clock to try and stop any of this from ever happening.

Lying in bed wasn't going to change anything, so William got up to face the day. Grell had located some of Baron Barnett's clothes for him to wear. While Grell had complained the outfits were, in her words, "horribly out of style,' they fit William well enough and were clean. That's all William really cared about when it came to attire. Carefully he combed his hair before examining himself in the mirror. Overall, his look was acceptable, but he took time to touch the tiny, gold collar about his neck. It was such a small device, and invisible to human eyes, but that was the only thing keeping that demon under control. It still whispered to William; dancing through his dreams and the darker recesses of his mind, but it could do little more than annoy him for now. Seeing that he was ready, he left the room where he immediately encountered a delicious which he followed to the kitchen.

Grell was cooking, and William stood in the doorway for a minute to watch her work. Her beautiful hair had been tied in a long braid, and she was wearing a red robe over her pajamas. Despite her not being dressed, he could tell she had taken the time to put her makeup, which he found curious. He had seen her without makeup before, and she looked perfectly fine to him. She was humming a somewhat happy tune before turning around to see William standing there.

"Will, darling," she said, "I had no idea you were there, but I'm glad you're up. I thought you were going to sleep the day away. Come on in and sit down. I'm going to make us a nice Sunday Roast even if it is only Wednesday." She laughed at her own joke.

He didn't laugh with her. She was rambling a bit, and he wondered if that was covering up some other emotion. They hadn't spoken since there near kiss the night before, and he had expected Grell to bring that up immediately. The fact she didn't actually only made things more awkward for him. It would be far easier to discus the matter if she would just say something, but she seemed to be in no hurry. William sat down and watched her work for some time; marveling that she was quite talented in the kitchen. She resumed humming as she set about making what appeared to be some sort of pie he suspected would be there desert, and paused when some flour got her small, round glasses. She had given up her reaper glasses upon deserting, but she had returned to wearing the glasses she had used in the past, which puzzled him. There didn't seem to be a point.

"May I ask you a question?" William asked.

"Besides that one?" Grell returned with a smile. "Sure, darling. Ask away."

"Why are you still wearing glasses?" he questioned. It wasn't what he wanted to ask, but at least it was the start to a conversation. "I've always heard that our eyes return to normal after deserting, and I know that I can see fine now. I was just curious as to why you still choose to wear them."

"Oh, my eyesight has always been positively wretched," she answered quickly, "I think I could see better after I became a reaper, and these old things only help so much. It's a tragedy, but my beautiful eyes have always been hidden behind a pair of lenses."

He nodded. "That makes sense," he said. Not being able to think of anything else today, he lapsed into silence while she cooked. She acted as if she was happy and serene, but even he could tell the uneasiness that lurked beneath her trembling smile, and he suspected it had something to do with what had almost happened the night. This had to be addressed, no matter how awkward. He reached up to adjust the glasses he no longer wore as he sought to frame his thoughts.

"Grell, we need to talk," he finally said.

"About what?" she said, as she looked inside the oven. "Won't be long," she muttered, mostly to herself.

"About last night," he answered, "About what happened or what almost happened. There are things that need to be clarified."

Grell laughed. "Don't trouble yourself about that, darling, I understand what happened perfectly."

"I'm not sure you do," he said, "It is a complicated situation."

"There's nothing complicated about it," she returned, and he noted the edge in her voice. "You're stressed and upset. You almost forgot yourself. That's all." She turned away suddenly as if she was afraid to face him directly.

"Yes it is," he said, as he stood up and walked over to her. "There's a lot more to it." He paused as he sought for the words. "It's the demon," he finally managed.

"The demon made you act like you were going to kiss me?"

"Yes. No. It's difficult to explain," he answered, "The demon doesn't seem to be able to control my actions anymore, but it still puts thoughts in my head. It twists my emotions and feelings. It warps desires."

She turned her head slowly so that their eyes meet. "If it can warp a desire," she said, "then the desire had to be there beforehand."

Although he had never considered this before, he knew that she was right. "I suppose," he admitted.

"Do you want to kiss me, Will?" she asked, putting her hands on his upper arms and bringing her face close to his.

Instead of answering verbally, he leaned forward to bring his lips to hers. To an outsider, this kiss wouldn't have appeared like anything special. There weren't in some romantic location, nor was their kiss particularly long or passionate. In fact, it was almost chaste, but it was unlike anything he had ever experienced. It was as if this moment had been fated to happen and their kiss was simply harmonious and fated. He moved away, but her hands were still on their arms.

She was delightfully flushed and even giggled slightly. "I like the way you answer a lady's question," she said.

For once, the demon was silent as he stood there looking down into her smiling face. "I thought you deserved a direct answer," he said. "It's been a long time coming."

She laughed again, but she let go of his arms to move towards the oven. "Let me take care of this," she said, "I think you have a lot more questions to 'answer.'"

((x))

Emily sat on the floor in the nearly bare room as she looked over the documents spread all around her. Collins had gotten her more files, but there was still so little information. Sutcliff had more haunts in the living realm than William, but all of them had turned out to be dead ends so far. She knew she had to do this, but she was feeling more and more like a failure with each passing day. She couldn't even provide justice for the one man she had truly loved.

And Ronald was watching her.

She had started seeing the day before; sitting silently in a warped chair in the corner of the room. The rational part of her mind knew that it couldn't be him. Ronald was dead and buried. His body had been disfigured and his soul stolen from him brutally, yet she still talked to the apparition in the corner. It comforted her and gave her strength. Her beloved was watching and waiting for her to gain vengeance, and that's what she planned to do. This silent version of Ronald only watched, and he never smiled. She had to do all she could to see his smile one more time.

The air around her grew thick, and she knew before turning that Collins had created a portal into the room. She turned slightly to look at him, but was slightly disappointed. Ronald had left when Collins had arrived. "Any news?" she asked.

"Great news," Collins replied, petting Virgil who set perched in his arms, "The rest of Upper Management have agreed to start my chipping program. This sort of thing will never happen again."

"But that doesn't help us now," Emily said, "I've gone through all of this, and I still have nothing."

"I may be able to help you with that," stated Collins, "I've talked to Anderson in Spectacles. He was far more stubborn than he should have been in the matter, but he's now working on glasses with a special lens that will allow you to see through glamours and illusions. No matter how Sutcliff is disguised, you'll be able to recognize that freak."

"What about Spears?"

"It's doubtful he will even attempt to create an illusion," Collins said, "He was never very good at it. Barely passed from what I understand." He laughed bitterly. "Would you believe those fools in Management actually wanted to promote him once? Thankfully, they came to their senses."

"But I will be able to see him with these glasses if he does try to make a disguise?" she asked.

"Of course," Collins answered, "I'm not sure when the glasses will be ready. I'll have to keep an eye on Anderson to make sure he works diligently on this new project." He seemed to be talking more to himself, but then he shook his head. "I'll also leave you, Virgil. He'll be able to identify them. We're also searching to see if there's any more information that might give them a clue as to their whereabouts." The cat jumped from Collins' arms and landed delicately on the floor where it regarded Emily with his dual colored eyes.

"I just need to find them," Emily said, "Then, I will make sure they can never do this again."

"They will be stopped," agreed Collins, "I will be returning back to the office to make sure everyone is doing their job. I have a feeling there will be a lot of vacancies soon, but sacrifices must be made in the name of greatness."

Collins created a portal and left as quickly as he appeared, and Emily was thankful. She didn't particularly like the man and his bizarre talk, but his help was necessary for now. He would help her in her quest for her dearest Ronald.

Now that Collins had left, Ronald had returned to his spot. He still wasn't moving or smiling, but he had begun to cry great tears of blood.

((x))

Grell hadn't been expecting any visitors when Rosalind pecked on the window, but she was thrilled to see the familiar pigeon. Happily, she opened the window, but found the bird was loaded down with a letter and a small bag. She untied the items, and Rosalind immediately went in to locate William. To Grell's confusion, the bag contained money, so she quickly read the letter from Pops to see if it provided any information.

 _Collins is causing quite an issue in our realm and using this incident to push his agendas. I fear for the future. I am under surveillance, so this will be my last letter for some time. I'm not sure how long. Keep Rosalind with you to keep her safe. I've sent along some money as I know you are no doubt running low, but I'm not sure when or even if I can send you any more help. Emily is the only one actively looking for you as Collins is busy with other affairs, but even she can be dangerous given the right tools. I have been forced to create glasses that can see through glamours. I am stalling, but I can't do so for much longer. Stay safe. If you are captured and the demon is released, we will all be in danger._

 _Pops_

William walked into the room with Rosalind happily perched on his shoulder. "Another letter from Pops?" he asked.

Grell nodded and handed the note to him. His face darkened as he read it, and she could tell there was a lot going through his mind. "I think there's so much more going on than we're being told," William said, "and I don't like that."

"What do you want to do?" Grell asked.

"I'm not sure what we should do," he admitted, "I know we're supposed to lay low, but I hate doing nothing. Plus, we do have this money situation. While it's impossible for us to starve to death, we do not want to go hungry and leave ourselves susceptible. We will have to take action is our financial situation appears that it's going to be an issue.

"Perhaps we can get jobs," Grell said. Stepping closer to William, she laid her head on his shoulder opposite of Rosalind, and he didn't move away. Although their situation was still bleak, Grell felt comforted standing by William's side and him not pushing her away. This is what she had been waiting on for over a century. "We'll figure out something," she added, "I know it."


	9. Chapter 9

The sun rose high in the blue expanse of the sky; signifying that noon was upon them, but it was only a sign to William that he had failed. He kept his face emotionless, and his steps were as solid as ever, but he could feel himself crumbling on the inside. Early this morning he had decided to check their finances and supplies only to find both were dangerously low. Grell hadn't been as frugal as she should have been with her shopping, but William couldn't really blame her. In their realm, food and basic shelter were provided for them. Their salaries could be spent on wants and desires rather than needs. Besides, Grell probably expected that Pops would be able to help them more. No one could have expected Collins to pick this moment to cause trouble, although, he realized he had inadvertently lied to Grell. He had crossed paths with Collins once in the past, although he had all but forgotten it.

William shook his head to clear his thoughts as he walked. He had left a simple note for Grell and had set out this morning to find a job. He knew work was scarce, but he was a responsible, educated man. He had thought that he would be able to find work so that he could supplement their income to help with the food issue, but he had been unsuccessful. Each person he had inquired about work had looked at him with mistrusting eyes and had told him that they had no work for him. He was sure that his appearance wasn't an issue. He had chosen a dark blue suit from the closet that he assumed belonged to Madam Red's late husband. Although Grell had said these clothes were out of style, William still felt his appearance was respectful and appropriate. He had combed his hair in usual style as well, and he hadn't bothered to disguise his appearance. Unlike Grell, his own looks were rather commonplace, so it was easier to simply hide in plain sight. The demonic restraint collar hummed about his neck, but it was naked to the mortal eye. The distrust he saw in people's eyes was because they thought he was an outsider. He had been born and raised in London, but it had been a long time since he had walked these streets as a native. With no family or friends to call on, he was an interloper and an alien. The simple truth was that in these hard times, people simply didn't trust someone they thought wasn't one of them.

He had walked to the outskirts of town when his keen ears overheard an argument from a nearby cemetery. Curious, he walked over to the iron gate to check out the situation. A tall man dressed impeccably in fashionable clothes was arguing with what William assumed to be an undertaker by his clothes. Even at this distance, he could tell that this mortician was purely a mortal. He had probably been a rival of the reaper deserter or had held the position for many years.

"He simply must be buried today," the tall man said. He was holding a handkerchief in front of his face as if trying to ward off some foul odor. "He simply must. It's too warm to store the body."

The strange undertaker smiled, which revealed his blackened, decaying teeth. "I love ta help ye," he said, "but ye see me bones are jus' too weary an' tired. Perhaps ye can get someone else?" His dark eyes sparkled from the rolls of flesh on his yellowed face.

"There is no one else!" cried the man, "You know my circumstances. If it is a matter of coin, then I can pay you well." The distress was painted clearly on his fair features as his dark hair danced about his head with his actions. The desperation was rolling off him in waves, and William was sure the undertaker was practically bathing in it. The man produced his purse and the clanging of coins sang of his wealth.

The old man laughed lightly, and the sound was like that of wind blowing through rotten, decaying leaves. "As much as I like yer money," he said, "It's not a matter of price. I'm just not as spry as I once was. Now, if I had me some help."

"I'll help," William said, as he stepped inside the cemetery. He approached the two quickly, but soon found himself assaulted by a stench that could only be coming from the bounder. That explained the young man's handkerchief, but William didn't blink. "I would be happy to help," he repeated to the old man, "for pay of course. In fact, I would feel it's a safe assumption this is not the only body you have that needs to be buried. It would be profitable for you to hire someone to help with the physical labor."

The old man looked William up and down and chuckled. The few strands of dirty, grey hair that remained moved about his head like a soiled halo as he scratched his scarred chin as if in deep thought. "Yer not a laborer," he said, "and I'd bet the hands in those gloves be lily white, but I know a desperate man when I sees one." He tossed the shovel he had been leaning on towards William. "Dig a grave here and let me see how desperate. Perhaps we can arrange a deal."

William got the shovel easily, and removed his jacket, which he draped over a nearby tombstone. He began digging a grave where the old man had indicated. While his appearance was that of a common man, his strength and speed were beyond that of mortals, and he didn't hold back as he quickly dug the grave. The young man's eyes bulged in shock, but the undertaker only wheezed and laughed.

"Yer got speed and strength," he said, "and I could use both."

"What about my pay?" William asked, as he gathered his jacket.

"Fer that?" asked the old man, "That was jist a test, and ye passed. I suspect ye be lookin' fer a job. Am I right?"

"Perhaps."

The old man nodded. "And yer no laborer, but ye can dig a grave as good as any man. I'd like to hire ye. As ye guessed, I have many poor blokes that need to be put in the ground before they go bad."

William would have preferred to work for anyone else, but he did need the work. "What about salary?"

"Well, this be simple work. How about 10 shillings a week fer a start?"

It was robbery, but William could read the old man well enough to know that this was as probably as good as he was going to manage. Those dark eyes were those of a predator that could pinpoint weaknesses. Despite William being able to hide his fears from most, the old man could tell he was desperate. "I suppose that will be acceptable."

"The name's Samuel Harris," he said; smiling broadly so that the smell of decay was evident. "I also have a little cottage at the back of cemetery here if ye need a place. I could let ye rent it for, say, 5 shillings a week."

"I have a place to stay," William said between clenched teeth. "The job will be enough." This man really was trying to get this work for free, but a job was a job. It would be some money to assist them, and it would help William from feeling so useless while they were forced to hide.

Harris nodded. "Well, as ye guessed, I have more bodies to put under. Might as well get started."

((x))

Spectacles was unusually quiet. The normal flow of reapers getting their eyes checked or having glasses repaired had dwindled to just a few, and they had made prior appointments. The typical hum and constant activity had slowed, and Anderson knew that it was a bad sign. Something was happening just beyond these walls, and he feared for their entire realm. He wasn't even entirely safe here. Although some mind find it paranoia, he knew that he was being watched. Collins hadn't been here physically since he had requested the special lens and had bragged about his chipping program he was sure would be approved, but his presence still lingered. Word had drifted through the halls like a forgotten ghost that his proposal for chipping had been partially approved. For now it was voluntary, but with incentives like extra pay and vacation time that made it very attractive. Anderson knew what it really meant, but he would only be silenced if he tried to speak. Collins had finally made his move, and it looked as if the realm just might fall under his control.

Just like the prophesy foretold.

Anderson finished the special glasses and set them aside. He had hated creating such things, but at least he had been able to warn William and Grell. Both were smart enough that they should be able to remain hidden even without disguising their appearances though the ancient means. Thankfully, Collins had been so intent on his mission here, he hadn't thought to assign anyone else to their case. Emily was sadly determined, but she still lacked the experience and training to be a good recovery agent. He hoped that Grell and William were safe, and that some method for dealing with the demon would be discovered. Unfortunately, he feared their realm would long be lost long before they even had a chance to save William. So far, he had no idea how that sort of demon had even arrived in this country or why it had attacked a reaper in the first place. There had been little investigation into the matter as most of Upper Management preferred to stick to the story that William had simply gone mad and killed young Knox, but there were a few looking for the truth. So far, nothing of any importance had been discovered.

Standing up, he picked up a nearby glasses case and turned to a coworker. "I'm going to lunch," he said, "If Collins stops by, the glasses he requested are there on my desk. All preliminary tests indicate they should work exactly as he specified." His coworker, a pleasantly plump man who was only a white beard away from being the perfect Santa Claus, nodded in a distracted manner. He was carefully cleaning lenses, and Anderson wasn't even sure if the man had heard him. Of course, it probably didn't matter. Collins most likely already had someone watching his ever move.

Anderson felt exposed and vulnerable as he walked down the halls. It was as if Dispatch was slowly changing; mutating into some foreign beast that wanted to devour him. He had been warned of this day, but he still felt unprepared as he made his way to the desk where William's secretary, Ms. Fletcher sat typing on a form. She looked up at him and smiled, but he could see the exhaustion shimmering in her dual colored irises. A temporary supervisor had been assigned to replace William, but it seemed as if the majority of the work had been placed on her. "Good morning, Mr. Anderson," she said. She was one of the few who didn't refer to him as Pops. "How are you today?"

"I'm doing fine, Ms. Fletcher," he said, "I have the glasses here you needed to be repaired."

"Glasses?" she repeated in a puzzled tone.

"I know you weren't expecting them until tomorrow," he added quickly, "but I was able to get to them early. I was able to fix the lens quickly so that there are no chips. I understand how that can drive you crazy."

He saw the realization slowly dawn on her and she nodded. "Thank you," she said, with the only faintest hint of a smile.

"I also went ahead and repaired you case," he said, "Added some extra lining."

She nodded again. "Thank you, Mr. Anderson."

The transaction completed, Anderson turned and made his way to the cafeteria. is brief meeting with Ms. Fletcher would have seemed normal enough to anyone who might have observed it, and the glasses inside were her prescription. Even their conversation shouldn't have raised any red flags, but he had gotten his message across. Just before he turned the final corner, he glanced back and watched as Ms. Fletcher put the glasses, case and all, in a drawer. No one would have guessed he had entrusted her with information about William and Grell; information that would be invaluable if something happened to him. Collins was egotistical, and his targets were those in obvious positions of power. He wouldn't think that someone like Ms. Fletcher could cause him any trouble.

And that would be his downfall.

((x))

The new glasses arrived by pigeon, which had seemingly found Emily without issue where she had been sitting for the last several hours perched on a rooftop. The attached note from Collins stated that these had been especially designed by Anderson so that she could see through any magical disguises those murdering deserters might use, so she had put them on eagerly. To her disappointment, she saw no reapers in the throngs beneath her. In fact, she saw nothing different about these glasses, except the world seemed more devoid of color than before. It was if all the world had been muted and, instead of the usual vibrant colors, the entire scene before had been painted with tones of grey. Perhaps Collins was wrong to trust Pops with this job. He was the most talented at creating their glasses, but she wasn't sure if he was an ally. He seemed so willing to protect Grell's file and reluctant to declare her a deserter.

She sighed as she looked down at the world and found her eyes welling with bitter tears. Below her, she could hear the laughter of young lovers, and it all seemed so unfair. Why should they be able to love and be loved and she couldn't? Everything inside just hurt so badly, and she could see no end in sight. In fact, even Ronald's ghost had abandoned her; whispering the words, "no more," before disappearing like smoke in her dusty room, but she had to keep going. Someone had to pay for all the pain she had endured.

Without warning, Virgil suddenly leaped to his feet as his snow white fur raised in alarm. His hissed and mewled loudly. "What is it?" Emily asked, "Do you know where they're at?"

In response, the cat ran along the rooftop and jumped down. Emily followed and found herself running down a cobblestone street. Soon, the cat stopped and begin to hiss at a door of a small shop. For a brief moment, she felt a surge of hope as she threw open the door and heard the tinkling of a bell. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, however, her hopes crashed and shattered like a delicate, glass rose.

"Can I help ye?" a voice asked, and a thoroughly unpleasant man stepped forward. From his black robes to the coffins that were scattered about the room, she knew exactly the type of business she had found. "Name's Samuel Harris," he said, "Will ye be needin' my services this fine day?"

"No," she sad, "I made a mistake." The stench of death was nearly overpowering in this small space, and that must have been what confused the cat. She turned to leave; nudging the reluctant cat with her foot.

"Well, I'm here if ye need me," he said, "Just hired a new man today so I can plant twice the bodies now. He's in the back."

"No," she repeated. She shoved Virgil outside and shut the door, but the cat still seemed reluctant to leave. He kept mewling and scratching at the door, but she no longer had any patience. "Come on," she said as she scooped up the agitated cat and headed back towards the small room she had rented. She needed to rest and regroup her thoughts. Right now her head ached and it was hard to think, and she needed to be on top of her game.

((x))

The clock in the parlor ticked ominously, as if it was a countdown to some sort of doom, but Grell couldn't seem to keep herself from looking at it every minute. She was growing more worried with each and every movements of those hands despite telling herself everything was okay. When she had awoke this morning, she had found a simple note from William saying he had to do something today but she was not to leave the house. At first, this had seemed like a simple enough task as Grell took the opportunity to thoroughly clean and straighten the house. While she wasn't as orderly and neat as William by nature, she did like to keep a tidy house. She even made sure there would be a good meal for William when he returned.

It wasn't until about noon that Grell became concerned. She had no idea what it was that William felt he had to do, but he had already been gone for a few hours. Despite her nagging fears, she tried to keep herself occupied as time continued to creep by. The sun continued on its path across the sky, and it was just about to dip below the horizon, when she heard the front door open. Inwardly, she exhaled with relief, but her annoyance rose to the surface. She had been just about to go out to search for William despite his instructions, and now she was mad at him for making her worry.

She stomped towards the door and planted her hands on her hips. "Where have you been?" she demanded, "Do you know what time it is?" Her annoyance melted away immediately when she saw the tired look on his handsome face and the slight slump of the normally solid shoulders. "Are you okay, darling?" she asked.

"I'm rather tired at the moment," he said. He took off his shoes to place them by the door, and she noticed the dirt clinging to them as well as how slow and pained his movements appeared.

"What happened?" she asked, "Were you attacked? I was worried."

He shook his head. "I saw that we have very little money or food," he answered simply, "So I decided to get a job." He moved his arms and winced a little. "I was unaware that I had gotten out of shape."

"What sort of job?" she asked.

"I am digging graves for the local undertaker. It seems he's had an increase in business since the departure of another undertaker," he answered, "An unpleasant man by the name of Harris, but at least it is a job."

She wrinkled her nose. "That seems a bit beneath you," she said, "You're a smart, educated man. Surely there's something better out there."

"Unfortunately, there isn't," he answered, "And we needed income." He winced again. "I think I'd like a hot bath."

"I'll go and run the water," she said with a gentle smile, "Rest. I'll heat up the food while you bath." She didn't wait for him to answer before retiring to the bathroom, but she did glance back once. She hated seeing William so tired and almost broken, but there was an odd sense of pride. William was working so hard just to take care of them, so she had to do her best. Maybe this wasn't the married life she had dreamed of William, but this was far better than any dream. He was here with her and they were working together. This was a dream realized, even if the situation was far from perfect.

As William went to take his bath, she heated up the food, which was a bit of their leftover stew with some fresh bread. It was hot and ready by the time William walked back into the kitchen. He was only wearing his pajama pants, and Grell had a moment where she could only stare at his exposed chest glistening from his recent bath. She had always known it was broad, but somehow it was even more than she had imagined in her dreams. Feeling the heat rising in her cheeks, she turned quickly to get him a bowl of stew. "How are you feeling?" she asked, "Any better?"

"Some," he said, "Excuse my lack of dress. I was just tired. I'll think I'll eat and head to bed soon."

"That's okay," she said, as she handed him a bowl. Again she let her eyes drift to the solid muscles before drifting up to his face. He didn't seem to even notice as he leaned on a counter to eat. "It's odd that you're so tired," she continued, "Do you think the demon is weakening you?"

"Perhaps," he answered, "My own healing abilities are keeping it at bay, so perhaps my normal endurance is compromised." He coughed lightly. "Or perhaps I am simply getting old."

"Never!" she exclaimed, "But it is hard to see you so tired. I'll go out and get a job tomorrow."

"I'd rather you did't."

"But why?" she asked, "Two incomes would help us even more."

"I can blend in," he said. Reaching out he took a strand of her scarlet hair and twirled it in his fingers. "You were made to stand out. Besides, I doubt you could even get a job. I had a difficult time."

"I could try," she pouted, "Besides, I'm just as strong as you."

"I know," he said, "but...I would prefer you to stay here. There's very little I can do, and I feel almost helpless a times simply sitting around and waiting. Let me do something to help us. Let me be useful."

"You're always useful," she said, "but, if you want me to play housewife, I will do my best." She leaned on the counter and watched him as he ate. "Will, what are we exactly?"

He stopped eating; his spoon suspended in midair as he looked at her curiously. "What do you mean?"

"We're living here together and helping each other," she explained, "We even shared our first kiss. Are, are we a couple?"

A slow smile took possession of his features. Returning the spoon to his bowl, he reached over and gently pulled her closer to kiss her. It wasn't like their first kiss as it wasn't perfect. Their noses bumped briefly and she could taste the stew on his lips, but still her heart soared. His kisses were so gentle, yet filled with untapped passion. After a minute, he stepped back.

"I think we're partners," he finally said.

Grell wanted to ask for clarity, but her head was swirling too much with emotion. "This is just like a dream," she finally admitted, "I always fantasized about living with you in a cozy little home as husband and wife. Maybe we're not married and this isn't our house, but it's still far more than I ever really dreamed might happen. I had almost given up."

"I'm sorry I made you wait so long," he said, "but don't let this be your dream. You deserve more than just to hide with a possessed reaper. One day, I might be able to give you what you really deserve."

She couldn't really frame an answer, so they lapsed into silence as he finished eating. "That was good," he said, "and just what I needed."

"It was just leftovers," he said, "Sadly, stew is one of the the things we can make with less funds, but I'll do my best to add some variety and spice to it." He was still rubbing at his shoulders as if in pain, so she added, "Would you like me to rub some lotion on your shoulders?'

"That would be nice," he said, "I do hurt."

"Go on up to bed and lie down," she said, "I'll go get the lotion."

He thanked her and left the room. She took a few minutes to clean the kitchen before gathering the lotion and heading to his bedroom. "Now roll on to your stomach," she said, as she walked into the room but was only greeted by a soft snore. Stepping closer, she saw that he had already fallen asleep on his side. Apparently, he had been more tired than even he had thought.

Slowly, she walked around the bed as she studied his sleeping form. He was a handsome, amazing man, although he seemed blind to these attributes, and that tugged at her heart. She wished that for just one minute, he could see himself the way that she saw him. After a minute, she set the lotion and her glasses on a nearby stand and quietly climbed into the bed beside him. He didn't even stir as she lay down and gently touched his face. Snuggling close, she closed her eyes and started to drift off to sleep.

"Goodnight," she whispered, "sweet William."

((x))

In the middle of the reaper realm, a giant clock struck midnight, although most were asleep. Those who had assignments had already left for the human world, but the offices were mostly quiet and empty. Hallways stretched in the gloom and shadows; lingering like tunnels that led only to darkness. Silence hung like a banner and this world felt as dead as its occupants.

Collins, however, felt very much alive.

He stood in his office by the massive window that overlooked the realm with a satisfied smile painted on his face. It was all finally happening. The door to his office opened, and he glanced up in the reflective glass of the window only to see Bishop walking into the room carrying several files. "Are those the latest reapers to submit to the program?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," Bishop answered, "It seems like it's going well."

"Very well" Collins agreed, "I now have enough for my army." He turned away from the window with a broad smile. "Emily's a sweet girl, but she's not a serious recovery agent even with Virgil's help. No, Bishop, we need an army of our finest reapers to hunt out these deserters and destroy them. This will be our priority. A few souls may be lost to demons in the meantime, but that will be the fault of the deserters. We'll flush them out."

"Of course, sir."

"One more thing, Bishop," Collins said, as he turned back to the window, "Set up the paperwork to arrest Anderson. I know he's hiding something. He's probably loyal to those traitors, and we don't need anyone like that in our new kingdom."

Bishop agreed meekly before leaving. Collins's smile only grew as he stared out into the night and scratched at his side. "Prepare yourself," he whispered, "For New Death is coming."


	10. Chapter 10

Golden beams of sunlight slipped through the window and coaxed William's eyes to open. He winced and stretched slightly, but soon realized there was a warm body against him. In shock, he looked down at the mass of red hair spilling across the bed and Grell's sleeping face. Normally, he would have been upset because he didn't like when anyone got too close, especially without his permission, but she looked so peaceful. Her makeup had been scrubbed away, and there was just the slightest dusting of freckles across her nose. He resisted the urge to kiss those freckles as he pushed aside a few strands of hair just to watch her sleep. She hadn't bothered putting on nightclothes, but somehow the loose shirt and pants she was wearing gave her the look of innocence.

He wasn't sure how long he had been watching, when her own eyelids began to open and she yawned. "Good morning," he said.

She jumped slightly in alarm. "Will!" she gasped. Looking down she saw that she was lying in his bed. "I thought I'd wake up before you," she admitted, "I'm sorry."

"I'm not," he said softly. He felt warmer, softer lying by her side somehow, which prompted him to do something he had only thought of before. Leaning forward, he gently kissed the freckles that dotted her nose. She made a soft noise in surprise before smiling up at him.

"Will?" she asked as she looked into his eyes.

He returned the smile before leaning forward to kiss her mouth tenderly. Her lips felt so soft and warm beneath his own that he never wanted to move away. His heart began to speed up as her hands came up to his chest. Her fingers were soft and her touch as soft as the fluttering of a bird's wing, but he took hold of one to push it tighter against his chest; against his heart.

Time ceased to exist as only the existed in that moment. William stopped kissing her for a moment to lean back to just to look into face. Her cheeks were flushed slightly and her eyes were sparkling brilliantly. He had never seen anyone look so beautiful. Their situation was far from ideal, but he had been feeling lost and almost helpless for too long. He needed this connection with someone he knew he had loved for a very long time even if he had never admitted those words aloud. In fact, it was time to tell the truth.

Stroking her face, he never broke eye contact. "I love you," he whispered, and her eyes widened in surprise. "I always have." Rolling over so that his body was slightly covering hers, he kissed her mouth before moving to her long, graceful neck. It had been his own fantasy to kiss her beautiful neck, and he was not disappointed. She smelt slightly of lilac perfume and clean soap, and she was very receptive to his kisses. Her breathing had increased almost imperceptibly as she brought her arms around his back; scratching him slightly with her nails. He moved back just enough to undo the buttons on her shirt and rub his hands across her own chest. She was slender, but he could feel her muscles beneath the skin. At first glance, she seemed so fragile, but he witnessed the strength she possessed of body and spirit. Leaning forward, he resumed the kiss as he moved against her legs; his growing arousal evident. He needed her.

Without warning, she suddenly planted both of her palms against his chest and pushed him away. "I haven't even put on any breakfast," she said, "You'll need to eat before you go to work." She scooted across bed, away from him, and disappeared out of the bedroom door so quickly, he could have thought what had occurred between them was nothing more than a vivid dream.

He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling for a moment. Perhaps this had been nothing more than a dream on his part. He had grown closer to Grell, but maybe she hadn't been as honest as he he had assumed. Maybe this was nothing more than a game with her. He shook his head; wanting to deny the possibility, as he stood up and started to get dressed. The more he thought about it, however, the angrier he became. Perhaps Grell had been using him for her own amusement. By the time he dressed and walked into the kitchen, he was seething.

"I haven't had time to cook anything," Grell said when he walked into the room. Other than looking slightly flushed and embarrassed, she seemed fairly normal, and this only made William more enraged.

"Don't bother," he replied, as he grabbed an apple out of a nearby bowl. It was the last they had, and normally he would have asked if she wanted it, but he no longer felt like being considerate. "I wouldn't want you to put you out."

She gasped slightly, but he turned away and took an almost savage bite of the apple. He didn't want to hear her explanations or give her a chance to spin some sort of tale. Most of all, he didn't want to see the tears he had glimpsed forming in her eyes.

((x))

They walked in unison; their steps in perfect rhythm so it sounded like one creature with many feet approaching instead of a group. Anderson kept his head down and continued his delicate work, but he could hear the gasps and whispers between the footsteps. Work around him ceased as the steps grew louder and closer until pausing just in front of his desk.

"Lawrence Anderson," Collins announced in a triumphant tone, "Stand up. You have been accused of a most grievous crime and are to be placed under arrest during our investigation."

With deliberate slowness, Anderson looked up from his work to gaze up at the face looming over him. There was no question about even attempting to run considering the number of men Collins had with him, and Anderson didn't really think that was an option anyhow. He had to play his part for now for the sake of all their futures. He set aside the glasses and stood up, as he had been commanded. Two of the men, who looked like carbon copies of one another with the their same dark hair that was cut close to their scalps, stepped forward to place handcuffs on his wrists. These weren't powerful handcuffs, but these chains would be more obvious at a distance. It seemed that Collins wanted to make sure others knew of this arrest.

As a group, they turned and starting marching towards the prison, but Collins didn't take the most direct route. He led him out the door and into the main hall of Dispatch. There were stares and whispers, and Anderson knew that Collins was using this as an example of what happened to those who stood against his will. People peeked out of offices to watch them, and he hoped that word would soon get back to Miss Fletcher. Her corporation was crucial now.

Onward they marched into the city and towards the accursed prison. Anderson had been here before but never as a prisoner, and these circumstances were less than ideal. He had no idea what awaited him inside the bars as they continued inside. They walked down several hallways before pausing before a cell that looked little bigger than a closet. The door was opened, and Anderson walked inside without being instructed to do so. One of the guards waved his hand to reengage the shield before turning to leave. His comrades went with him, so that only Anderson and Collins remained.

"Aren't you concerned with which crime you have been accused?" Collins finally asked.

"I'm not sure it makes a difference," Anderson replied.

Collins laughed mockingly. "It would if you were innocent, although we both are well aware of your guilt. You have been accused of aiding wanted criminals and helping them to avoid capture. Do you deny this?"

"I don't see how I could have done such a thing as I haven't left our realm," he said, "Furthermore, I did send a recovery agent after the wanted reaper, which is precisely what I was instructed to do."

"You knew very well Sutcliff would never turn in Spears," stated Collins.

"I knew no such thing for certain," he said, "Sutcliff was the best available agent, and has shown herself to be increasingly reliable."

"I doubt that very much," Collins sneered, "but that is of little issue now. I'm assembling an army that will find them and bring the two to justice. All those who defy me, must be dwelt with swiftly so I can take my rightful place."

Anderson made firm eye contact with the man. "Because of the prophesy?" he asked.

Surprise flitted across Collins's features. "Yes," he admitted, "Although I'm surprised you know of it. Of course, you are one of the oldest in our realm. Honestly, it's a bit disturbing you have yet to be redeemed." He paused as he took a step back. "The prophesy says that a reaper will rise up to become New Death; a ruler that will lead all reapers into the future and bring forth new life. That reaper is me. It was determined the moment I got this promotion, but now I see it's time for me to take my stand. We have reapers who would kill one another, and they must be dealt with." He smiled broadly. "And you will be one of my soldiers."

As if on cue, a short, pale reaper with brown hair stepped forward with a large needle. "I think it is time you to be chipped," Collins said.

Although his heart beat faster, Anderson did his best not to show any fear. "I thought that was voluntary," he remarked.

"For most it is," Collins agreed, "and it still is for you, but in a different sense. You see, there are two chips. This one won't change who you are in the least. It will only let us know where you are at at all times, and it will monitor thoughts so we will know if someone might become a danger. No you won't notice it." He stepped closer to bars as he allowed his voice to drop slightly. "But, there is another chip. It's far more controlling, and it's been known to completely destroy the mind after some time. You still have some purpose to me, but not for much longer. I'm sure you're ancient brain would handle it for a short time, and then you'll simply be discarded like trash." His laugh that followed was low and sinister.

"So, that is my choice?" asked Anderson.

Collins nodded. "I'll let you sleep on it tonight," he said, "but I'd really recommend the smaller chip if I were you." Still laughing, he exited down the hall leaving Anderson completely alone with this thoughts.

((x))

Grell had sworn she would never let anyone drive her to tears again, but she cried quietly in the kitchen after William had left. She had wanted him, and had genuinely enjoyed his kisses, but had gotten scared at the last minute. In truth, it was farther than she had ever gone with anyone, and a part of her wished she had been so afraid, but now she felt utterly rejected. William had gotten so mad, and he'd probably never want to touch her again even though they had grown so close recently.

As the day began to pass, her tears dried up as anger overtook her emotions. She had waited for William after all, and suddenly he didn't want her because she had stopped him. That didn't seem fair in the least, and she jumped from her stool as she wiped her face almost brutally. It didn't do any good to cry about things after all. She needed to take action. With no resolve, she stomped upstairs and returned to her room.

She was running low on makeup as she hadn't thought to pack much extra and that wasn't the sort of thing Pops thought about sending them even when he was able to do so. Instead of taking the time of reapplying everything, she grabbed a clean cloth and washed her face thoroughly. "What's the point of looking your best if no one even cares how you look?" she demanded her reflection.

A soft noise caught her attention, and she turned to see that Rosalind had entered the room and was perched at the head of her bed. "Do you see the point?" she asked the pigeon, who only cocked her head sideways. "Neither do I," Grell continued, as if there had been an answer. "You pigeons mate for life, and that's all I wanted to do. I waited for that man, but now I see that he didn't care. I could have slept with every man I ever saw, and he wouldn't have cared. He might have preferred it for all I know. He certainly didn't wait." She stood up and paced the room a few times. "How dare he make me feel guilty for wanting to wait for him, and I had ever right to turn him down. We've only just gotten to know each other, and he won't even call us a couple yet. He said we're partners."

With her freshly scrubbed face, she continued to vent mostly to herself as she walked back downstairs and prepared dinner in brisk manner before attacking the house. She couldn't help but wonder why she was still playing housewife when it seemed William would have preferred a whore, but she couldn't deny she actually enjoyed keeping everything neat and in order. Besides, it was good to have some outlet for all her restless energy. She ate lunch with no concern for William's whereabouts, although he was undoubtedly hungry at this point, and decided to use her afternoon cleaning and changing linens; starting with William's bed.

It was night before he finally returned, and she had already eaten dinner and was sitting in front of the fire when she heard the front door open and close. Her shoulders stiffened as she heard him walk towards the den, but he only paused in the door wordlessly before walking on towards the kitchen. Apparently he didn't even want to talk to her now, and that was okay with her. It had to be okay, although she would have been lying to herself if she didn't admit that it broke her heart a bit more. She could hear him as he got a plate of food and quietly ate his meal. Bitterness rose in her throat and threatened to spill down her face as she thought that at least her cooking was one way she satisfied him.

After what seemed like an eternity, he walked into the room and stood behind her. She could feel his eyes on the back of her head, but she didn't turn or acknowledge his presence. She was hoping he would at least apologize for the way he had treated her.

"Good night, Grell," he finally said. His voice dripped with forced formality. "Thank you for the food."

She loudly snorted. "You certainly sound thankful," she said with obvious sarcasm, "but you should be since that's the only thing you'll be getting from me."

He made a surprised noise before walking to stand before her. "I don't understand you at all," he said, "I thought I had finally figured you out, but first you toy with my emotions and you're the one who gets angry about it."

"I toyed with your emotions?" she shouted jumped up to stand before him. "You were the one touching me, remember? I let you go farther than anyone else..." Her voice trailed off as emotions choked her throat, and she feared she had already said too much. She turned to leave the room.

"Wait," he said, as he grabbed her arm, "Farther than anyone else? Grell, are you trying to tell me that you've never been with anyone?"

"I told you before," she said, as she turned to face him, "I told you I was a maiden, but you never listened. Probably heard one too many rumors about me, right?"

"I never believe rumors," he answered, "but I honestly didn't know you were being serious."

"Well, I was," she said, "When I was reborn, I was determined to find love and be a good wife. I just had to find someone strong enough to handle me, and I knew that man was you the moment you stood up to me. I know I was a being a terrible fool, but I waited." She shook her head. "A lot of good all that nonsense did me. You don't want me."

He pulled her close to look into her eyes, but she glanced away. She felt she looked dreadful without her makeup, and she didn't want to take a chance of crying in front of him. "I didn't know," he repeated, "and I want you more than anything. I'm the fool for not guessing and trying to push you farther than you felt comfortable. Will you forgive me?"

She felt like melting in his arms, but she didn't want him to see how easily he could manipulate her moods. "Maybe," she stated,"but you're not getting off that easily. You hurt me, my prince, and now you have to show me you're sorry."

A ghost of a smile found its way to his face. "I see," he said, "And how do I do that?"

Sitting down again in front of the fire, she looked up at him. "You'll find a way, I suspect."

He laughed lightly as he sat down beside her and wrapped his arm around his shoulders. "Am I on the right track?"

"I think so," she answered, "There is one thing I do like."

"What's that?"

"Your kisses," she replied, "I could simply get drunk on the nectar of your kisses."

He seemed unfazed by her romantic rhetoric as he turned her face to meet his and comply with her wishes. As always, she could feel the passion of the gentle pressure of his lips upon hers, but he seemed content with this for now. As for her, she felt like she was living out some wild fantasy. She was kissing her beloved in front of a roaring fire and, one day, she would give herself fully to him.

And he was content to wait.

((x))

Collins slowly walked around his house; looking at every detail as if seeing these quarters for the first time. When he had been first promoted, he had been amazed by his house, and felt it was truly a simple of how far he had come, but now it seemed to be lacking somehow. The high ceilings, rich decor, and beautiful floors were nice, but this not fit for a ruler. He would need a palace, and he felt he would have one in the near future, but there were other matters to attend to first. After Anderson was under his control, he would hunt down Spears and destroy him. He was the only wrench in his perfectly oiled plans, although his actions had actually helped Collins to move forward. He took a long drink of scotch, feeling the liquid burn down his throat, as he considered the situation. It seemed almost laughable now that those fools in Upper Management had actually considered William for this position, but at least they had come to their senses.

His tour complete, he started for his own bedroom so he could put on his nightclothes to retire for the night, but he was interrupted by a knock on the door. He frowned slightly, but he assumed that as ruler he would have to grow accustomed to late night visitors seeking his help. Walking boldly, he strode to the door and threw it open in a manner he hoped was regal. He was more than a little disappointed to find that it was only Bishop, although he was surprised to find that this assistant seemed out of breath. "What is the meaning of this, Bishop?" he demanded, "It's late."

"Sir," Bishop gasped, as he pushed his glasses up his narrow nose. "It's Pops. He's gone!"

"What?" roared Collins.

Bishop nodded. "One of the guards went to check earlier and his cell was empty. There was no trace of him, but no one can figure out how he escaped either. He was simply gone."

"That's impossible," Collins mumbled. Pushing past Collins, he walked outside and started towards the prison. "No one just vanishes."

Bishop didn't have a reply as they hurried down the streets. Most everyone else in their realm was asleep, but anyone looking out a window would have seen the two figures almost running through the shadows. Collins wasn't winded by the exertion, but sweat beaded across his forehead as his perfectly styled hair stuck to his skin. Anderson was crucial to his plans.

The guards were gathered all around the cell, but it was just as Bishop had described. The barrier was intact and there was no sign of any hole or disturbance. It look completely pristine, but there was no sign of Anderson. It was as if he had simply disappeared. Collins cursed quietly as he slammed his fist into the wall.

"What should we do, sir?" Bishop asked.

Collins whirled around. "We have to get the army ready. Spears and Sutcliff needs to be found now. Anderson is probably with him."

Everyone followed his orders without question, but Collins still found himself uneasy. His plans were still at the crucial early stages, but he had to be successful. All of the futures depended on him.

((x))

William knew he was dreaming, although he had never had a lucid dream in the past. Still, he knew that this was a dream as he walked through a garden that looked a lot like his mother had when he had been a boy. It was very vivid though as he could feel the dew on the leaves as he brushed past and smell the sweet fragrance of all the blooms, but he didn't question this as he walked forward until he came to a clearing. There was a table in the middle of the garden, and a dark haired man sat with his back to William as he approached. "Hello," William greeted as he stepped closer to the table.

The man turned around, and William halted in his steps. At fist glance, it appeared that William was looking at himself, but then he realized that this was is brother. "Martin?" he asked.

"You could call me that," returned the man.

"No," William realized, "You're that demon inside me, aren't you?"

"I thought it was time we talked face to face," the demon said, "but feel free to call me Martin if you wish."

"I don't wish to call you anything," William retorted, "I want you out of me."

The demon laughed lowly; contorting Martin's handsome face. "It's not that easy," he said, "I'm a part of you now. We've merged, as you well know, but this could work out the best for both of us. You can't protect the lovely redhead, you know. They will be coming after you. If you were to release me, then I could protect her."

"Never!" William replied, "I'd rather destroy both of us then to give you control."

"I will take control one way or another, William," the creature stated, "so you might want to reconsider this deal. At least this way, you'll have some say in the matter."

"No!" William screamed, and the force of his own scream suddenly jerked him awake. His mother's garden faded as the bedroom came into focus. He sat up on the bed; his breath coming in ragged gasps as he tried to make sense of the dream, but he could still hear the demon's laughter echoing in his head.

The door flew open and Grell came running into the room. "Will, darling," she said, "Are you okay? I heard you scream."

"I'm fine," he said, "I just had a nightmare."

She frowned as she studied his face. "Must have been some nightmare," she mused before leaving the room briefly. She soon returned with a towel to wipe the sweat from his forehead. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes," he said, "I'm sorry I woke you."

"That's okay," she said. With a sly smile, she put the towel on a nearby stand, before climbing into bed beside him.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"I thought I'd help you keep those nightmares away," she answered.

The dream still clung to his mind, and seeing her lying there so vulnerable scared him slightly. "Are you sure that's a good idea?" he asked, "I'm not sure you can trust me."

"I trust you," she said, as she arranged herself beneath the covers. "Don't worry, darling. Get some sleep." She closed her eyes serenely, but he saw there was no use arguing with her. Besides, he did appreciate her lying next to him.

"Grell?"

"Hmmm?"

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders. "I love you," he whispered, "And we are a couple."

She opened her eyes lazily as she smiled. "Now, you're truly forgiven," she said. Leaning forward so that her forehead was against his chest. "Goodnight, darling."

"Goodnight," he replied, but it appeared she had already fallen asleep.

Pushing aside all his fears, William relaxed, but he was reluctant to fall asleep. He was afraid the demon was waiting there for him in his nightmares.


End file.
